


We Gather Strength

by Jael_Lyn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:33:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael_Lyn/pseuds/Jael_Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Detectives Ellison and Sandburg investigate three deaths, they discover that not all painful memories remain buried forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Gather Strength

_"We gather strength from sadness and from pain_

_Each time we die we learn to live again."_

_Author Unknown_

"There's nothing wrong with experimentation, Jim. That place is the hottest thing going in Cascade right now. You can't get a dinner there without a reservation weeks in advance." Blair popped out of the elevator, walking backwards so he could continue this discussion face-to-face.

"Sandburg, I don't know how I let you talk me into these new-age things. Why can't we get pizza with normal stuff? You know; cheese, pepperoni, more cheese."

"Are you really going to tell me you didn't like it? You ate more than your half." He waved a white takeout box in front of Jim. "We were supposed to have leftovers and not cook dinner. There are just two pieces left. That isn't even a snack."

"So I was desperate and hungry, " replied Jim, with just a touch of embarrassment. It wasn't the first time that he'd ended up with more of Sandburg's lunch than Blair did. Still trying to carry on the conversation, Blair backed sharply into the door of the bullpen. Jim rolled his eyes and reached around to open it for his partner. "It had leaves on it, Sandburg. How can you call that pizza?"

"Those are spices, Jim. Red onion, rosemary, feta, mushrooms. It was great."

"Sandburg, I know what spices are. Spices are little chopped up things that come out of a jar. That rosemary was a branch."

"It was fresh!"

"It was a tree!" Jim answered emphatically. "Most restaurants finish cutting things up before they charge for it."

"I don't suppose I could interrupt with something work related, gentlemen? The annoying stuff that the people of Cascade pay us for?" Despite the stern voice and the imposing presence, Simon Banks was smiling inside. The last few months had been a struggle for the Ellison-Sandburg team. Sandburg had a lot of baggage to carry as he made the transition from academic to cop. It was a relief to see them relax into comfortable bantering. Unwilling to spoil the mood, Simon liberated the take-out box and peeked inside.

"We went to Fraley's, Simon," bubbled Sandburg. "It was great."

"Captain, Sandburg, Captain."

"Oh, yeah. It was still great, Captain." Blair gave Ellison a mock glare, daring him to contradict his endorsement. "Interesting menu. Very creative."

Jim ignored his partner. "You have something for us, Captain?"

Simon set the box down on the desk. "I hate to do it. I know you guys came in early to help out, and you went to lunch late. Henri and Rafe just called in. They responded to a call while you guys were out and asked for you two specifically. Didn't elaborate. In fact Rafe kind of hung up, and he sounded pretty stressed. Here's the address."

Sandburg was already halfway out the door. "We'll keep in touch. Why don't you finish the pizza, Simon?"

His long-suffering Captain would have corrected his newest detective, but Sandburg was already gone. No fault in his enthusiasm. Ellison shrugged with a smile as he grabbed his keys. "I'll remind him, sir." Jim tapped the white cardboard with a finger. "Between you and me, it is pretty good stuff. Weird, but pretty good."

Simon grinned. "I won't tell him. Get out of here. Thanks for the pizza." Back at his desk, he took a healthy bite, hoping to shake the sense of foreboding he had about this. Ellison and Sandburg were his best, but Rafe wasn't prone to panic. Something just didn't feel right.

&&&&&

The address was in a very exclusive area of Cascade, complete with gate and an attendant. Jim dispensed with the guard's quizzing with his badge and a short, enlightening chat about obstructing justice.The atmosphere screamed privilege and a sense of membership. Immaculate homes with perfectly groomed landscaping lined the street. The occasional vehicle not safely parked in the spacious, four-car garages were new, expensive and luxurious.

"I don't know, Jim. Maybe we should have checked something out of the motor pool. Sweetheart doesn't belong here."

"A classic makes its own place, Sandburg. Now if we were in the Volvo, that would be different. We would need to park the Volvo back on Pine Grove and walk in."

"My Volvo is just as classic as this truck!" Despite Sandburg's chronic problems with the Volvo, he loved that car beyond reason.

Jim wheeled around another corner. "Your Volvo is a classic heap of junk. It doesn't run, Sandburg. We could go car shopping tomorrow on our day off. Have you saved enough for a down payment?"

Blair shook his head. "I made my student loan payments. I need another couple checks before I can car shop."

"Sandburg, you need a car. Borrow some money from me and let's go kick tires."

"I can't do that, Jim. I have so many debts as it is. A little patience won't hurt. Besides, the Volvo isn't really bad until the weather gets cold."

"How do you define 'really bad' ? I consider refusing to start for days on end 'really bad'.

Blair ignored him with a good-natured smile. "There's the address, Jim. Up there on the right. Brown's car is there behind the patrol car."

Jim snorted. "Yeah, his rig is easy enough to spot. It's the only one on the street that costs less than the budget of a third world nation." As they advanced up the walk, they heard Henri Brown's voice from the back yard. They skipped knocking on the door and followed the sound around the side of the home, weaving their way through a flawless formal garden and a gate.

"Henri doesn't sound very happy about something, Chief. Looks like we just got here in time."

As they skirted around the last planting area, a broad tile veranda spread out before them. Brown was in a heated argument with an elegantly dressed woman and an older man, who looked as though he'd just come off the golf course. Could be my father, thought Jim ruefully. As he moved to join the little discussion group, he knew Blair was moving off in a different direction. Sandburg might technically be a rookie, but he had good instincts. Jim left him to track down Rafe and the uniformed officers who must be around somewhere.

The argument escalated to a shouting match by the time Jim got there. He didn't miss Henri's relieved expression. Flipping open his badge, he plunged in. "Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. What's going on, H?"

The golf course refugee interrupted. "This is outrageous, Detective. This - individual - has no respect for decency." A sly smile appeared in the tanned face as he eyeballed Jim and the badge. The tone of voice changed. "I'm sure your approach will be more sensitive. I believe I know your father, Detective."

_I'll bet you do. You're out of luck, buddy. I was a big disappointment to him, too._ "Please stay right here, sir," Jim directed, not acknowledging the attempt at familiarity. I need to speak with Detective Brown. Wait here, please." 

They took a few steps away. "It's a potential crime scene, Jim," hissed Brown. I wouldn't let them take the bodies out of the pool, or move anything, until you got here. They have some cocktail party tonight that they're freaked about. We've got three kids dead and all they're worried about is that we're delaying the caterers." Brown was trying, but he couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice. "What if it isn't an accident? How many times do three people just drown simultaneously?"

"Drown? Did you say drown? Oh no, Sandburg." The look on Henri's face reflected his own as realization dawned. Outraged homeowners would have to wait a bit. "Keep everybody right here, Brown!" Jim dodged the expensive garden furniture and the market umbrellas at a dead run, heading in what he assumed must be the direction of the pool.

The pool wasn't visible until you got close to it. Designed to look like a tropical lagoon, a series of stone terraces dropped ten feet to the water's surface. Instead of typical materials, the sides were lined with boulders. A cascade of water created an artificial waterfall. There was a fountain and a slide. There were also three bodies, face down. Two teenage girls and a young man.

Rafe was nowhere in sight. Sandburg was frozen on the first terrace, staring blankly at the water and the victims. Jim slowed his headlong rush and approached carefully, cursing himself for not getting more information before they split up.

"Sandburg?" No response. Jim put an arm around his partner's shoulders. "Chief? Why don't you sit down, just for a second." Jim gently steered his silent partner toward a lounge chair. "Come on. There you go." Jim knelt in front of him, hoping for a response from his silent partner. The too-blue eyes in the ashen face rotated to hold his own.

"Oh, God. Did I look like that? Is that what you saw, Jim?" Blair's voice was soft and strangely detached, his breathing shallow and rapid. This had all the makings of a full-blown panic attack.

Jim placed his hand flat on Blair's chest, hoping to calm him. "It's okay, buddy. This is kind of like a flashback for you. It's okay." Blair wasn't paying attention. His eyes were back to the three bodies in the pool.

"So still. You can tell they're gone." The usually animated voice was still a hushed monotone, which was a bad sign. Behind him, Jim could hear Brown and the golfer guy going at it again. He didn't have much time.

"Look at me." Jim gently gave his partner a shake. Blair was still spiraling away from reality. He needed to draw Blair's attention away from the tragic scene in the pool. Jim forcibly turned the pale face to fasten Blair's eyes on his own. "Sandburg, listen to me and concentrate. That's all in the past. Over. You're here, I'm here."

Blair gave him a shaky nod. "Okay, Jim." He turned to face away from the pool and stood up. "I'll be fine. It was just a shock, ya know?"

"Yeah. Understandable. Just shut it out for now, and we'll talk later, right? I kinda need your help here." Blair was nodding, and seemed to be gaining some control. "Just stick with me here, Chief. No more solos for you at the moment. Let's figure out what the story is."

They rejoined the group on the veranda to sort out the particulars. A few facts came out quickly. The older gentleman, one David Calvin, was the owner of the home. The elegantly dressed woman was his significantly younger second wife. One of the victims in the pool, Marnie Jacobs, was David Calvin's step-grandchild by a previous marriage. The other two kids were unknowns. The Calvin duo wanted the bodies out and the caterers in. Jim bit back his anger over their callous attitude. The fact that none of the victims was a blood relative struck him as a poor excuse.

It took awhile, but they gradually got the chaos under control. After making it clear that the Calvin social gala was not the first order of concern, Jim divided up the grim tasks among the participants. Sandburg was given the duty of interviewing the housekeeper. She had returned from shopping to find the bodies and called 911. Sandburg was good with witnesses interviews. It would also keep him away from the drowning victims for the moment. Blair seemed grateful for the diversion and vanished into the house.

Rafe was sent with the Calvins to get contact information for Marnie's mother, who was on a honeymoon tour of Europe with her new husband. She'd arranged with her former stepfather to have Marnie spend the summer in the guesthouse at the back of the property, to which he had agreed. David Calvin and his wife claimed to have rarely spoken to either mother or daughter. Brown would seal the guesthouse and make a preliminary check of the premises. They needed to identify the other two victims and notify their families. The uniforms would coordinate with the coroner and forensics, who were due to arrive any minute. Jim wanted to scan the pool area before anyone else tromped through it.

When the group dispersed to their own tasks, Jim walked to the edge of the tiled veranda. He had only a few minutes of solitude and he knew it. He scanned the area with sight and scent. He really didn't want to push it without Sandburg nearby, but he wasn't about to drag his partner down here right now. He needed to start somewhere. 

The pool area was spacious. Lush plantings bordered it on three sides. They wouldn't get any information from casual onlookers or neighbors. The site was too private. A narrow path through a vine-covered archway apparently led to the guesthouse. In addition to lounge chairs scattered around the pool edge, an umbrella table sported a nearly-empty pitcher of punch and a basket of tortilla chips.

Walking slowly to the table, he noted three margarita goblets in bright, fashionable colors. Two were by towel-draped lounge chairs. One more balanced precariously on the pool edge. He dipped a finger into a glass and tasted. Alarm bells went off. It was sangria, but a bitter chemical tang alerted him to the presence of something other than fruit and alcohol. These kids could have been flying high on purpose, or maybe someone helped them along into this disaster.

Alcohol and drugs could be a deadly combination. He'd worked a case in vice, years ago, where a strung-out, drunk couple had passed out and quietly drowned in a hot tub. A nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels was still bobbing in the jets when he'd arrived. At the time, the image had ruled Jim's nightmares. That one had been an accident. So what did they have here? Too much party or murder?

He knelt by the pool. He'd let the coroner retrieve the bodies. He could always review the results with Dan Wolfe after the autopsies were complete. Both young female victims were rather petite. Any reasonably fit adult could have gotten them into the pool if they were unconscious. The young man, however, was at least six foot and built like an athlete. It would have taken considerably more effort to drag him to a watery death. Just one more thing to consider.

By the time the first forensics team arrived, he had a fairly long list of things for them to check. Jim ignored their skeptical looks and insisted they write each item down. Fluid samples from all three glasses. The glasses themselves, the pitcher, and any mixing utensils or ingredients in the guest house. Every towel at poolside. The last thing he did was mark off a section of the pool edge where he wanted a careful search for blood and tissue. That task complete, he headed for the guesthouse.

&&&&&

It took hours to even figure out who the victims were and begin the sad process of notifying the families. There was no ID with the victims other than Marnie Jacobs. A canvas of the neighborhood finally turned up which cars along the street "didn't belong", which yielded a name, an address, and a physical description that matched their unidentified male. With Rafe still tied up with the Calvins, Brown left to track the boy's family and get a positive identification. A second search of the guest house eventually yielded a purse and a driver's license that seemed to match the second girl. After having no luck at the family home, Blair and Jim resorted to backtracking numerous phone messages and numbers scattered around the guest house. They uncovered calls routed to a nearby Wal-Mart where the mother was employed.

The Wal-Mart was clear across town. Sandburg was all business and uncharacteristically quiet. Jim figured it was as good a time as any to make a more thorough check on his partner. He discarded at least four approaches before blurting out, "So tell me about the pool, Sandburg."

"Nothing to tell. It just caught me off guard and I freaked a little."

"Come on, Chief. It was a bad scene for everyone, including me, and I don't have your history. We could ask Simon for some down time, talk to somebody ..." Jim's voice trailed off. They were tied up in traffic, but even a few sideways glances were enough to know his partner wasn't happy.

"Jim, I'm fine. Don't mother hen me and blow stuff out of proportion. I want you to let it drop."

"What if I don't think that's such a good idea," replied Jim tersely.

"I will remind you of the million and one times we've ignored some sensory thing for your because we were busy at the moment. We're busy now. Cut me some slack."

Jim tried to gauge Blair's mood. The man could be world-record obstinate. "I'll let it go for now, because we are busy, but you're not off the hook."

"Just drive, Jim. Just drive."

They found the manager at Wal-Mart, and located Tara Long's mother in record time, but deferred any questioning until they had a positive ID. Sylvia Long, a frail looking woman in her early sixties, was driven by her supervisor directly to the morgue with two friends from work for moral support. She identified her daughter's body and promptly collapsed into hysterics. Her husband was a self-employed long distance trucker and completely out of reach. According to her co-workers, it was normal for him to be out of touch for a couple of weeks at a time. Tara was the only other family anyone knew of. Mrs. Long ended up at Cascade General under sedation, with her co-workers taking turns at her bedside. As a source for leads with the investigation, the situation was hopeless until she recovered. With that end of the investigation at an apparent dead end, the two detectives headed back to the station.

After the brilliance of a long summer afternoon, the inside of the conference room in Major Crimes seemed especially bleak. It was nearly seven in the evening when Jim slumped into one of the chairs. His partner was already transferring notes to the board, beginning the tedious process of coordinating information from so many sources. The set of Blair's shoulders told Jim the state of his partner's emotions. No matter what time they got finished tonight, Jim was going to have to talk to him about his flashback, for want of a better word.

This case was going to be a nightmare. They had gotten one bad break after another. Bad Break #1 - The Calvin family either had no information about the life and times of Marnie Jacobs, or they weren't about to volunteer it. Their cooperation was questionable; they were not pleased that their property was now off-limits as a crime scene. Bad Break #2 - Their male victim, Bruce Price, was the son of Councilman Andrew Price. Bad Break #3 - They still couldn't rule out murder as a possibility, but they couldn't prove it either. Bad Break #4 - The media had picked up the scent. The death of three young people in the ritziest area of Cascade was just to juicy to ignore. Their case was the lead story on the six o'clock news, and would probably be the lead story for days to come. Rumors were flying, ranging from a deadly lovers' quarrel to a serial killer in Cascade to a suicide pact.

Well, at least in the opinion of some individuals. Jim watched his partner print more information on the white board. Blair usually had a real gift for looking at possibilities that would never occur to anyone else. He seemed uncharacteristically eager to write this one off as an accident and close the case. Jim had come to rely on Sandburg's quirky thought patterns to catch things he otherwise might miss. The absence of their unique system of checks-and-balances made him uneasy.

The other members of the team drifted in one by one, each with a little piece of news. Blair dutifully organized and recorded, but remained quiet and withdrawn. The three victims had graduated from Cascade High together in June. All were eighteen. One of the phone numbers found in the guesthouse was for a hotel in France. Rafe was using it as a starting place to track Marnie's mother. The woman apparently didn't place a high priority on maintaining contact with her daughter. Brown arrived with a pile of interview notes from the Price family. Poor guy. It had certainly been his day to deal with the wealthy and obnoxious. Mrs. Price had, however, identified Tara Long as her son's current girlfriend.

Simon showed up with a pizza. Jim was surprised, until he saw the look on his face. Something else had gone wrong. This was Simon's way of softening the blow. He was delaying the inevitable by handing out soft drinks and slices of pizza and napkins, but everyone knew. He waited until Brown and Sandburg added all the new information to the board.

"Good job, everyone. I want all of you back here first thing in the morning. We'll do a briefing and have a clear game plan before everyone heads out. It's a complicated case and we're getting a lot of scrutiny. I won't bore you with my detailed conversations with the mayor this evening. We need first class coordination every step of the way. I'll handle all the statements to the press." He munched another bite of pizza.

Years of working with Simon Banks told Jim the man was stalling. They may as well cut to the chase. "What's the bad news, Captain?" Jim asked quietly. "You may as well tell us."

Simon sighed. "It's hell to be the parent of a teenager. Dan Wolfe just called. He started the autopsy on Tara Long, since we got her mother's identification. She was about ten weeks pregnant." His detectives shuffled in silence as the news sank in. "We can't ignore it. For all we know, her condition was a motive. Unfortunately, I have a hunch neither set of parents knew, although Mrs. Long is pretty much a blank slate at this point since we can't talk to her yet. Someone's going to have to follow up that line of questioning tomorrow."

None of them stepped forward immediately to volunteer for that one. Not exactly a surprise.

&&&&

"Are you sure you're up to this, Sandburg? I don't want to, but we could wait until morning."

"Relax, Jim. You already know I think it's a wasted trip, but I'm fine." replied Blair as he fussed with the seatbelt. "I had a bad moment this afternoon, not a meltdown. We have better light now than in the morning before the meeting, not that you really need a lot." Jim didn't answer, but Blair could see the teeth grind and the jaw clench. Jim meant well, but his overprotective streak could be a real pain. Besides, he hated it when they were at odds on a case.

"I'll let it go for now, Sandburg. I'm still worried about you. Remember me, the king of repressed memories?"

"I won't point out to you how ironic any 'let's talk' speech is coming from you."

"I'll agreed to let it drop earlier, and if it's still too soon, I can wait. Tell me what you got from the housekeeper. Your summary was good, but I want to hear the whole thing. We've got the time. It'll take a good twenty minutes to get across town." Jim pulled the truck out of the PD parking lot into traffic.

Blair tried to cover his sigh of relief. He hated Jim in mother hen mode, and he hated this case. He chided himself for overreacting. "Her name is Claire Williams. She's worked for the Calvins for years. I think she's the only one who actually talked to Marnie on a regular basis. The girl moved in right after graduation and her mom's wedding. Middle of June, something like that. Calvin gave her a key and that was it. She had permission to use the pool, but only came to the main house to visit Claire. She never had dinner with the family or anything. Basically zero supervision."

Blair turned sideways to look more directly at his partner, completely into the story now. "Marnie came up to the house this morning to get a recipe for sangria. Claire swears she gave her the directions for a non-alcoholic version and doesn't know where she was getting the alcohol. Marnie seemed to be able to get whatever she wanted and bought her own groceries. She picked up a couple hundred dollars a week from her mother's bank every Monday."

Jim snorted. "You need to speak with Naomi. Obviously she didn't read the correct Mother's Handbook when she sent you off to Rainier at the tender age of sixteen."

"Well, she got the 'detach with love' part out of the same book. Claire says Marnie only heard from her mother twice since June. Marnie came up to talk to her pretty regularly, and acted like she wanted the company. Anyway, when Claire left to run errands about noon, Marnie was coming back from the store. She was with another girl and a guy. When Claire came home at about 3:30 or so, she walked out to remind Marnie about the Calvin's party. She saw the bodies, ran back into the house and called 911. End of story."

"Everything rings true for you?"

"Yeah. She was pretty shook up, and I think she genuinely liked the kid. I got the impression this wasn't the first party at the guesthouse. She claimed not to know any of the other kids Marnie had over. Tomorrow, if the case is still active, I can take photos by, and maybe an annual from the high school. Maybe she can pick someone out who had been over to the house before. I hope to God we decide it was an accident by then. Case closed.

"Good thought about the annual. Rafe has the school on his to-do list. We can ask him to get an annual while he's there. What else is bothering you? I can see the wheels turning from here."

Blair leaned his head against the glass of the back window, obviously distressed. "We already know we see this case differently, Jim. Let it go at that."

"A pregnancy might change things. Hard to predict how kids would act."

Blair grimaced. "Do you seriously think the Long girl's pregnancy is a motive? Women have plenty of options in Washington state. I just don't see it."

"You never know, Sandburg. I've seen it go a lot of ways. You can have a boyfriend that doesn't want the responsibility of a child, a girl who doesn't want the pregnancy and the guy does, parents who don't want the shame or can't wait for the grandchild. With that many conflicting emotions, things can get pretty volatile. I busted a guy once who killed his wife because she got an abortion without his permission. They were getting a divorce at the time. Go figure."

"You're kidding! People are just nuts. This is so be hard for me. I can't claim to be unbiased on the subject. Naomi certainly could have made different choices in my case." He paused. "It really makes me sick to think we lost another totally innocent life in that damn pool."

"Don't go there, Chief. You can make yourself crazy thinking that way." Jim pulled to a stop in front of the Calvin home. For all their surface perfection, these people were largely a mystery. "We could have a tough time digging out the truth."

"We haven't found anything that says 'MURDER' to me. I know, I know. We agree to disagree." Blair looked up at the nearly dark house. "How much are they obligated to tell us if it stays classified as an accident?"

"Enough for us to find out if it was an accident. I have a gut feeling on this one, and Brown agrees with me. It's murder, not an accident. Suburban drownings just don't occur in threes." A few lights gleamed from the second floor. "I'm going to go around back. Would you let the household know we're here?"

"Sure." Blair headed up the front walk. "You'll wait for me?" he called back over his shoulder.

"You got it, Chief. This is a joint effort. If there's a clue back there, I don't want to miss it."

They started at the pool edge. There weren't many objects that would hold a scent, but Jim tried anyway. All he could detect the faint smell of suntan oil still on the chairs. The cloth items, like the towels and seat cushions had already gone to the lab. Hearing was a non-issue by virtual of time of death. At Blair's suggestion, they quickly switched to sight. The fading sun was turning the western sky into streaks of pink and purple. They wouldn't have the light forever.

Jim knelt down, intending to scan the pool edge. He still hoped the forensic analysis would find some tissue scrapings or blood somewhere on the rough stone surface. As he turned in a slow search of the area, his eyes were drawn to a blue smudge hidden deep in the foliage. Leaving Sandburg, he picked his way through the shrubbery and flowers. His prize was another brightly colored blue goblet.

A fourth glass meant this had been a party of four. A fourth person that sure wasn't in the morgue on this summer night. Henri Brown had been right. The scales had definitely tipped toward a murder. If there were salvageable prints on the glass, they were one step closer to their murderer. Jim was sure of it.

"Sandburg, get something to wrap this in. We have some ..." He didn't finish the statement. He was alone. Where the hell had Sandburg gone? "Sandburg?" he called.

Jim waited for a few moments, and then retraced his path carefully out of the garden. He was going to wring Sandburg's neck. When he heard the door of the truck slam, he grimly marched around the house, muttering expletives as he went. What was Blair thinking?

The truck was empty. The street was deserted. On the seat lay a large evidence bag and a scrap of paper that said "LATER" in Blair's familiar scrawl. Seething, Jim realized he didn't have time to chase around after Sandburg. This could be critical evidence, and he needed to get it back to forensics immediately. His partner's bizarre behavior would have to wait.

&&&&

Jim smacked his pillow one more time, then flipped to his back, staring at the ceiling. He checked the time. After one in the morning, and still no Sandburg. He was beginning to think about an APB. Instead, he tossed the covers back and slid his feet onto the cold floor. Sleep was not going to come and it was time to admit it.

At nine, when he'd first gotten to back to the loft and found it empty, he had been furious. At ten, he was furious and triumphant. Forensics had called. The prints on the blue goblet matched none of the victims, but they did match a partial print found on a prescription bottle retrieved from the trash of the guest house earlier in the afternoon. The chemical traces in the sangria also matched the prescription. The evidence was pointing toward deliberate action. Jim was sure the user of the fourth goblet had also added the prescription drugs.

At eleven, he didn't feel like giving Sandburg a dose of "I told you so" anymore. Jim finally sulked his was through reheated leftovers. At midnight, he'd gone to bed, aware that his anger was sliding into genuine worry.

He stood in the kitchen, torn between making coffee or downing a beer. When the phone rang, he pounced on it like a desperate man. "Ellison," he barked.

"Um, I'm sorry to call so late." Jim didn't recognize the young woman's voice. Irritation surged again. If this was one of Sandburg's female escapades he was going to... .the hesitant voice interrupted him, breaking his train of thought. "My name is Cecily Marshall. I work at Charlie's Island, you know, the dance club? I'm calling about Mr. Sandburg. He's your friend, isn't he? I have the right number?"

Jim forced himself not to shout. "What's the problem, Miss?" He could hear the sound of music in the background. She must be calling from the club.

"Well, Mr. Sandburg's here. Actually, he's been here a long time, and I don't think he can get home. He's a....look, he was my teacher and I really like him. He's not doing too well. The club is closing in a little while, and if he doesn't get out of here, they'll call the cops. I don't want him to get into trouble."

"Can you keep him there?" Jim was already walking up the stairs to find his clothes. "Stall for a little while until I can come get him?

"Yeah. Sure. I don't think he'll try to go anywhere. Just hurry and get here before we close."

"I'll be right there." He took the stairs two at a time all the way to the ground floor.

&&&&

Charlie's Island was a very fashionable club, catering mostly to the young and professional. It was a bit too pricey for the typical college student. Definitely not the kind of place Blair would have hung out in during his university days, and his social life had dwindled down to non-existent since he entered the academy. Jim broke a few speed limits and was tempted to run a few red lights as the truck zipped through the mostly deserted streets. A cop, any cop, picked up for drunk and disorderly, or drunk driving, was in a world of hurt. Introduce Sandburg's....unique circumstances....to the mix, and you had real problems.

The parking lot wasn't quite deserted when he pulled the truck in between a Lexus and a Spyder. At least the club wasn't closed. Your average bartender or server didn't drive anything like that. A pretty, dark-haired woman intercepted him two steps past the front door. Jim allowed her to lead him through the club, past the dance floor and into a lounge area. His partner was alone in a back booth, sitting behind a table covered with beer bottles and glasses. Lots of bottles. Lots of glasses.

Cecily Marshall must have anticipated his question. "He wouldn't let me take any of them away," she whispered. "I tried to visit with him on my break, slow him down a little. He didn't tell me to get lost, but he wouldn't say much either." She seemed near tears. "Mr. Sandburg's a wonderful person. He helped me a lot when I was a freshman. Do you know what's wrong?"

"No, but you did the right thing. Blair might not tell you that tonight, but I know he'll be grateful. I can take it from here." Jim gave her a smile, trying to telegraph an assurance that he didn't feel himself.

Blair didn't look up when Jim crossed the room, or when he slid into the booth next to him. He downed the remains of his current bottle as if Jim weren't there. The bleary eyes looked angry, or pained. Maybe afraid. Jim was absolutely at a loss. Blair knew how to enjoy a party, but he'd never known Sandburg to drink like this, alone and to excess.

Blair picked at the corner of the label on his newly-emptied microbrew. "Ya ssshouldn't be here, Zjim," he slurred. "Go hoome."

"You shouldn't be here, either. Can you walk out of this place?" Blair looked back at him. Jim could read that expression; defiance. If words weren't such an obvious problem, he would be getting a smart-ass comment right about now. "Look, if you don't walk out of here with me right now, your next stop will be in the drunk tank. Just stand up, and I'll do the rest. No hassles, not right now." Please, Blair, don't shred another career. Not this way.

The use of his first name got Sandburg's attention. With a look of terrible weariness, he pushed himself across the seat of the booth. Jim was there to meet him. Blair didn't utter a word as Jim helped him to his feet. The back exit wasn't more than twenty feet away. With one arm firmly around Blair's waist, Jim steered the reeling man out the emergency door and into the parking lot.

Jim weighed his options. He could leave Sandburg here and get the truck, or drag him nearly a block to where the truck was parked. It was deserted back here, and Sandburg was already sagging badly. Jim opted for discretion. He lowered Blair to the pavement. Blair seemed to curl in on himself, sprawling across the curbing. At least he wasn't going anywhere. Decision made, with a last look at his stricken friend, he jogged off to get the truck.

&&&&

Jim was still in his robe when he downed the last of his coffee. He felt lousy. Three or four hours of sleep just didn't cut it anymore. His morning bagel had all the appeal of sawdust. To top it off, he had the nagging feeling that whatever Sandburg's problem was, somehow he had made it worse. He needed to leave in less than 30 minutes or he'd be late to Simon's morning briefing. He fervently hoped he'd made the right call on this one. He was past the point of no return.

Jim poured coffee into Sandburg's favorite mug and dropped it off in the bathroom. He turned on the shower and adjusted the water to cool, but not cold. Time to get Sandburg up. A few firm shakes about an hour ago had been a waste of time. Sandburg really hadn't had enough time to burn all the alcohol out of his system. This was going to be brutal.

Sandburg was still exactly as he'd left him last night, or more accurately, this morning. Conversation, hell, walking, had been a lost cause for Sandburg when they got back to the loft. Jim had dumped him in his room and stripped him down to his boxers. Now, after his earlier attempt failed to get a response out of Blair, there was no point in going for subtle and dignified. Jim grabbed the sleeping man around his waist and pulled the mumbling, limp figure across the floor into the bathroom. He dead-lifted Blair into the shower stream, soaking the sleeves of his own robe as he held him upright. The pathetic lump sputtered and flailed at the water, but coherent speech was apparently still out of reach.

"You on your feet, Sandburg?" A nod. "I'm letting go. Don't fall." A strong hand steadied the sway. "Duck your head under the water. That's right." Jim rubbed shampoo into the bedraggled locks. "You stink, Sandburg. Lather this up."

Jim rung out his sleeves and stood nearby a Blair weakly followed his directions. When the lather streamed down his friend's chest and back, he handed him a bar of soap. "Finish up. We don't have much time." Blair stared at the soaked boxers as if it was all too much to comprehend. "Just leave 'em on, Chief. We don't need any other complications this morning. Wash. You've got one minute."

"Water's cold."

"He speaks. It's staying cold, too."

A minute passed as Blair scrubbed awkwardly with the soap. Jim shut the water off and threw one towel over the hair, draped another around the shoulders. Blair fumbled with a third, managing to wrap his hips, boxers and all, before Jim dumped him on the commode. He wrapped one of Blair's hands around the mug of coffee. "Drink. I already let it cool." Blair finally made eye contact after the third gulp. He had two hands on the mug and was hanging on for dear life. Jim dropped three aspirin onto the counter. "Chew 'em if you have to, Sandburg. You're going to wish for more. Drink the coffee."

Leaving Sandburg to air dry, Jim got a glass of orange juice and a glass of water from the kitchen. He returned to the bathroom and plunked them down on the counter. Sandburg hadn't moved and looked decidedly green. "Water first, then the juice. If you throw it up, I'll bring you more." Blair swayed as if his head was too heavy. "Straighten up, Sandburg," Jim snapped. "Finish the water before I come back."

By some miracle, Blair was working on the juice by the time he returned with clothes, or at least what he could find. It took awhile to unearth socks that matched. Blair's wardrobe organization was one thing that hadn't changed when he joined the police force.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Really, really, sorry."

"Sorry for yourself or sorry for me?. You're going to be sorry most of the day, my friend. Brace yourself." He toweled Blair's hair off vigorously, sure that it sent the huddled man into agony. "You'll have to put it back, because I'm no help. Hair is not my specialty."

Jim pulled an oversized polo shirt over Blair's head. "Stand up and lose the wet stuff." He would have loved to leave Blair on his own at this point, but as the elastic waistband was peeled down the thighs with shaky hands, the poor guy didn't look too steady on his feet. "I swear, Sandburg. Sit down and I'll help you with the rest."

&&&&

Jim checked the time again when he finally got Blair into the kitchen. He was excusably late, maybe, but he still wasn't dressed. He put three pieces of dry toast in front of Blair, along with more coffee. "I need to dress and leave." Five minutes later, as Jim pulled on his shoes, he could hear the sound of retching in the bathroom. Predictable. The kid was definitely in for a rough ride this morning.

He found Blair was back at the table, looking at the remaining toast as if it were nuclear waste. He'd managed to tie his hair back after losing what passed for breakfast. Jim doled out more aspirin and refilled the coffee, checking the time. He was moving from seriously late to irredeemably late, and hadn't called Simon, mostly because he didn't want to lie to his captain directly if he could help it. "I'm going to cover for you, Sandburg. Officially, you're checking out a lead. If Simon sees you in this condition he'll suspend you. I'll pick you up after the meeting. You're going to have to function today whether you like it or not."

A pathetically bloodshot pair of blue eyes peered over the edge of the mug. "Thanks. For everything. And I am sorry, Jim."

"My pay-back will be some serious explaining, but that will have to wait until you're coherent. Right now, we have a job to do, and I expect you to..."

"I'm not that much of a screw-up," interrupted Blair. The head dropped down again. "I'll be ready."

Jim tapped his finger by the aspirin tablets. "Take those. You need them. I'll be back in an hour or so." Blair didn't answer. As Jim pulled the door shut, he wondered if they'd be able to sort this out without leaving their partnership, much less their friendship, in tatters.

&&&&

Jim made one last check of the time before he got out of the elevator. Late, late, late. Simon would not be pleased, especially since he hadn't called. Knowing he was in for a well-deserved dressing down, Jim mentally braced himself and opened the conference room door. He was surprised to see Dan Wolfe and Serena seated next to Simon, along with the Deputy Chief-of-Police and a guy he recognized from the mayor's office. Great - since everyone and his dog is here already, let's just have the court martial and shoot me. Jim met Simon's glare head on. No point in making excuses.

"About time you showed up," growled Simon. "Where's Sandburg?"

"I left him to do a follow-up. I'll pick him up later." He willed Simon not to press for more details. Considering their extra guests, it was a phenomenally bad time to look disorganized.

"Perhaps Detective Ellison doesn't understand the gravity of the situation," sniped the Deputy Chief. "It reflects badly on the department and the city as a whole not to have this matter resolved. If it was a tragic accident we need to put the rumors to bed."

Jim decided to ignore that comment. Murder had a way of being embarrassing, and he didn't give a rip about city public relations. He was interested in the truth. Those kids deserved it. He turned his attention to Dan Wolfe, who almost never ventured up to Major Crimes. "Surprised to see you here, Dan. Must be a reason."

I finished the last autopsy this morning. All three kids had enough sedatives and alcohol in their blood to put them out on their feet. Death was by drowning, but it's entirely possible that someone put them in the water after they passed out. I can't rule it out."

"No sign of struggle?" Jim sifted through the pages of one of the autopsy reports.

"No bruising. I did look for scrapes consistent with dragging, like you suggested. The boy has scrapes on the back of his heels that would be consistent with that theory. Doesn't prove anything, but it fits the scenario."

"We'll just have to find our proof elsewhere. Are you running a DNA test on the fetus?"

"I thought it was an odd request at first, but now I see where you're going. Results won't be back for a couple of days. I'll let you know." Dan stood up. "Gotta go. I need to finish the paperwork to release the bodies. I will tell you one other thing. Based on the absorption levels, those kids had consumed quite a bit of alcohol before someone introduced the drugs into the equation. You can read that a lot of different ways"

"Thanks, Dan," acknowledged Simon. "Appreciate you coming up." He went back to glaring at Jim. "Serena, you go next. I'm sure you have other things to do."

"No problem, Captain. I contacted the prescribing physician about the empty bottle we found in the trash. Marnie Jacobs had a perfectly legal prescription, and never showed any indication of abusing the drugs. It had been nearly a year since her previous refill. Her doctor said she was upset about her mom's new husband, and he refilled the prescription last Tuesday, so nearly a full bottle probably went into the sangria. It's all hypothetical, but based on the doctor's reaction, I'd be surprised it Marnie put them in herself." She gathered up some papers. "I really do need to get back to the lab. I'll call if we turn anything else up."

"Thanks, Serena. Sorry for holding you up." Jim's only answer was a smile and a look of concern. Serena was far too kind hearted to hold a grudge.

Henri and Rafe were taking turns with the forensics report. "So where are we going with this one, Captain?" asked Rafe. "Take your pick: accident, suicide, or murder. It would help to have a little more direction."

"Maybe Detective Ellison would like to share with us now that he's arrived," drawled the Mayor's aide sarcastically. "If he has the time."

Jim wanted to respond to that sarcasm, but kept his face impassive. Simon had every right to be angry, but he wasn't about to get roasted by this insect. "I think that blue goblet points to murder. Let's say, for the sake of argument, our mystery guest shows up, has a drink, and leaves. Why chuck the goblet into the shrubbery? This fourth guy didn't want anyone to know he was there."

"Or she?" asked Rafe.

"Agreed. Could have been a she. Could have been Santa Claus. We need to cast a wide net, and see if we can find a motive." He saw their two remaining guest about to protest. "I'd just as soon keep it between us that murder is a possibility. We don't have to make any official statements about the direction of the investigation." He looked at Simon, who had clearly not let him off the hook yet. "Sound reasonable to you, Captain?"

"I think it's the best we can do right now," replied Simon. "If you two gentlemen will give me a few minutes, I'll draft and statement and we can review it. Shall we say at 9:30 in the Chief's office?" He ushered their clearly reluctant guests to the door. His smile vanished as soon as the pair was out of earshot.

"Since you weren't here, I assigned Brown and Rafe to follow-up at the school and run down friends, employers, that sort of thing. Ellison, you and Sandburg get to interview the parents." Henri and Rafe, sensing the tension, were on their way like a shot.

"Guys! Wait up," called Jim. "When you're at the school, get an annual or some pictures. Sandburg has an idea he wants to follow up on."

"Sure, Jim. Check in at noon, Captain?"

"Right. Get to work, everyone, and keep in touch. No media statements." Simon tossed the remaining case files and forensic reports in front of Jim, and glared at his remaining detective. "I'll deal with you later. I have a press statement to write. Catch up on what you missed, and see me in my office before you go." Jim winced as the door slammed behind his captain.

&&&&

Blair forced down another swallow of toast. He'd thrown up again, but there was no help for it. He had to get his act together fast. Jim was obviously not in a forgiving mood, and he was hardly in a position to complain. He owed his partner and roommate big time for this one.

As he picked at the crust of the toast, he wondered idly how Jim had tracked him down. Jim would want an explanation. Chicken and egg. He'd ended up in the club to avoid the explanation that he now needed to explain. Talk about stupid things to do.

He was going to have to come clean with Jim. The short version was that Blair Sandburg was totally out of control here. His mind started to wander. Current reality slipped to be replaced by images better forgotten, images that he had hoped to escape last night. He caught himself. Not doing that again, Blair. Not going there. Nausea washed over him again. He looked around the kitchen, searching for a distraction. He could feel his heart pounding, and the air seemed too thin to catch his breath. His eyes landed on the tiny cabinet where Jim kept his hard liquor.

Oblivion sounded so good right now.

&&&&

Jim knocked softly before entering Simon's office. Captain Banks was in official mode, obviously having another phone conversation with the Mayor. The same Mayor who happened to be the close personal friend of Councilman Andrew Price. There would be no happy campers in Major Crimes until they had this one solved and off their backs.

Conversation complete, Simon waited until the Mayor disconnected. Then he slammed the phone down, venting a little frustration. Jim groaned inwardly. This was not a good time to have your commanding officer displeased with you.

"I want an explanation, Detective. I'm not running a drop-in program here."

"No, sir."

"And? Dammit, Jim, we both know something's up. Where's Sandburg?"

"At home. He needed some time this morning. I'll pick him up and get to work. End of story."

The two men faced off in silence. "What aren't you telling me, Jim?"

"Just a little glitch, Captain. Sandburg is a little jumpy about drowning. He has cause, if you get my drift."

"Shit," muttered Simon. "I was so wrapped up in the political nonsense, I didn't think. Should I take him off the case?"

"He just needed a little more time this morning. It won't be a problem." Not the entire truth, but not an out and out lie. Banks gave him a brisk nod and went back to writing his press release. Jim counted his blessings, grabbed his keys and left.

&&&&

Blair stood in the kitchen, eyes closed. The coffee pot was four steps left. The cabinet was four steps right. He stamped his foot, reminding himself that he was in the loft.

_Water over his head. He could see morning sunlight filtering through the ripples._

NO. Kitchen. Loft. Home.

_Water burned his nose, his lungs. Alex's laugh, then silence._

No. Make it stop. Please, please make it stop.

&&&&

Jim jogged up the stairs rather than wait for their temperamental elevator. He and Simon had left it at a standoff. Sandburg had better be ready to go, because he sure didn't want to push Simon's patience or his own credibility any farther. He had just pushed his key into the lock when he smelled blood.

The heavy door banged as it smacked into the wall. Sandburg was huddled on the kitchen floor. Jim dropped to his knees beside him. The ceramic coffee mug was crushed in his hands. Blood was dripping slowly through his fingers and onto the floor. He was rocking ever so slightly.

Jim pushed him up so he could look at the damaged hands. He gently uncurled the stiff fingers one by one. Blood oozed from dozens of tiny cuts, but most of the damage was from a large chunk deeply buried in the heel of Blair's left hand. Jim carefully extracted the thick fragment. It came out cleanly, and blood gushed from the newly opened wound. Blair didn't make a sound. Jim grabbed a dishtowel from the counter and wound it tight.

"Sandburg? Can you put pressure on this while I get some first aid stuff?"

"Yeah."

Relieved to get even that response, Jim dashed for the bathroom.

Blair was still silent as Jim washed and disinfected the raw cuts. He was silent when the butterfly bandages were stretched across the worst slash, and as the gauze and tape were wrapped and secured. They were both still seated on the floor.

"I want you to tell me what happened, Chief. Either you talk to me or I'll have to call Simon and tell him you're unfit for duty." A listless nod was his only answer.

"Come on, Sandburg. You are really scaring me here. First you take off, then you damn near drink yourself to death, now this." Jim wanted to shake him. He knew that his voice was edged with impatience. "Look, I know you were pretty freaked by seeing those bodies in the water, and that's understandable, but this is..." He stumbled, searching for the right words.

"... out of control," finished a hushed monotone. Jim was shocked. This voice could not be Blair Sandburg talking.

"What do you mean, Chief? You freaked for a minute, but then you were okay. No meltdown, like you said yesterday. You started to get weird when we started talking about murder. The poor kids drowned. What difference could it possibly make..." Jim didn't finish the statement. Sandburg's face was twisted with emotion. He was shaking, and his heart rate jumped off the chart. "Blair? Come on, buddy. I'm sorry I yelled. Tell me."

"You...don't die right away. You watch."

"What did you say? Sandburg?" Something clicked. A memory. A horrible image of Blair face down in the fountain, hair fanned out on the water's surface. The worst moment of Jim's life. "You knew you were drowning?"

The disembodied voice droned on. "I could hear her laugh. I watched the light. What if they watched the light, Jim? What if they knew, like I did?"

Jim felt his own panic rising. Sandburg had never, NEVER, talked about this. He'd always assumed he was unconscious when Alex dumped him in that damn fountain. Jim started to blurt something, anything, out and then bit the words back. You couldn't screw something like this up. He reached both hands behind Sandburg's neck, pulling him over so they were facing each other, foreheads almost touching.

"I didn't know," he answered softly. "You never told me. Tell me now, Chief. You need to tell it and I need to hear it." He massaged the impossibly tight neck, hoping it would calm and reassure. The words came, but they were hushed and halting. Every syllable dripped out at a price.

"I was awake...when she dumped me in. Couldn't move. Eyes open. Breathed in the water...it burned...in my lungs. Knew I shouldn't breathe...but couldn't stop. The light sparkled through the water. I watched it a long time...really long time."

"Okay." Jim struggled to sort through, frantically trying to remember anything that helped with traumatic stress. "Did you forget? You came to Sierra Verde, you were fine. You seemed fine."

"Just pushed it aside. You needed me. I came."

"You're doing good, Chief." Jim wanted to die inside. How could he have not known, or suspected? How could anyone be so clueless about the most important person in their life? "Tell me about the first time, when we found the kids." He tried to keep his voice soothing, non-threatening. God, this was so bad.

"Scared me. So sad they were dead. You saw me that way at the fountain. You had to know I was gone. Why...why did you think I was still there?"

Without thinking, Jim stroked the back of his partner's head. "I just knew. I couldn't let you go." Jim struggled to find the right words. "The vision; you knew about the vision. We talked about it. Why didn't you tell me the rest?"

"Put it away. Bad karma. Just put it away." Blair rocked slightly, curling in on himself.

"Stay with me, buddy. So you put it away again, huh?" A nod. "And then we went back?"

"You found the...it had to be murder. I could see them dumped in the water. Drag them in to die. Watch the light and die. It was the same. I knew what they saw, what they felt."

"Shit. So it all came back, and you ran. Why did you run?"

Blair leaned against his shoulder, his eyes hidden from view. "Couldn't say the words. Not to you. Kept seeing it over and over. Make it stop, you know?"

"Yeah, Chief. I know." Jim pushed him away slowly, until he was sitting straight. He remembered all too clearly painful nights while one comrade or another worked through a living nightmare. Some of those memories could eat away a life from the inside out. "Again this morning? I shouldn't have left you alone. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone."

"It was like the tide coming in. It wouldn't stop." Blair's voice had a steadier note, a little more normal. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm a mess"

"Sandburg, this is serious post traumatic stress we're talking about here. I'll call Simon. I won't mess this up again. We can get whatever you need. Anything you need."

"Jim, I don't want you to do that." He could feel the anxiety rise in his friend. Blair was going to lose it again, right in front of him.

"Okay - okay. Let me make a call." Blair gripped his hand, pleading without words. "I won't say anything. I promise."

His first call was to Rhonda. Pure smokescreen. They'd be out of touch. No cell phone. Be in at noon.

Eyes still on Sandburg, his second call was to Dan Wolfe.

"Dan? Ellison. You still got the bodies?"

"Yeah. Paperwork's done. Just about to call the funeral homes."

"I can't talk right now. Don't let 'em go. Go over them again."

"What? And just what am I ...?"

"Check the skin, check the nails. Especially on the boy. Think. What would you see if he wasn't completely out when he went into the water?"

"OOOkaay. Why am I doing this? Give me a hint, so I don't feel like an idiot when I'm stalling grieving parents." Jim didn't miss the note of irritation. He was asking a lot of Dan.

"Call it the Sandburg zone. It's there, Dan. We just have to be smart enough to find it."

&&&&

He'd gotten Sandburg off the floor. He coaxed some mint tea into him. He waited, pushing all thoughts of losing more time and Simon's fury aside. He sat with his friend and let touch take the place of words. This was no time to fuss over convention. You weren't afraid to hold a wounded man on the battlefield.

"I'm okay now." The voice was low, but firm. It was like watching a switch being flipped.

"Don't do this, Sandburg. It's a bad plan. You can't just....what did you say? Put it away? I screwed up before. I'm not doing it again."

"I mean it, Jim. We need to get to work. I need to talk to the housekeeper, Claire. She trusts me." The eyes were focused, but he still looked like shit.

"The case doesn't matter right now. I'm not going to let you put the immediate before the important. We are not doing a Sierra Verde rerun."

"You know now. It's just like a zone out. You can pull me back. I want to finish this."

"Sandburg, it doesn't work that way." The slumped figure in the chair didn't look capable of getting out the door, much less chasing around town on a murder investigation.

Sandburg was on his feet. The pale face was set and determined. "It can work. For a little while. I need to punish this person. I can finish this if we catch them. Punish them."

A stunned Jim Ellison sat and stared. This was nuts. Certifiably crazy, but in a convoluted Sandburg way it made sense, and he could make a guess at what his partner was trying to tell him. What would Blair call it? Closure. There had been no closure with Alex. This would be the substitute.

"Try, Jim. Just try?"

"Okay. We can try." Simon is going to kill us both. May God have mercy.

&&&&

They wanted to start with Councilman Andrew Price. That was the plan, anyway. Logistically, they had a few difficulties. Jim had to tie his partner's shoes; the act of bending over was not on Blair's dance card on this particular morning. Once fully clothed and out of the loft, Blair took one look at the elevator and began a slow, cautious journey down the stairs. Jim bit back any impatient comments about their pace. He had a fairly good idea of how much discomfort each step produced.

Blair clambered carefully into the truck and rolled down the window on his side. They'd only gone a couple of blocks when Blair started squirming.

"We need to stop for gas, Jim. There's a station on the next block."

Jim stared at the gas gauge. "What are you talking about, Sandburg? The tank's full."

"DAMN YOU STOP FOR GAS! NOW!"

The simple fact that Sandburg rarely shouted startled the driver into compliance. Jim's brain clicked into gear about the same time the truck bounced into the lot. Blair fairly vaulted from the car and disappeared into the 'Mens'. Jim shut off the truck, cursing himself for being so dense. He didn't need enhanced hearing to know that his partner was once again facing the day on an empty stomach. To pass the time, he found a vending machine and bought the stricken man a 7-Up. It seemed the least he could do.

&&&&

Golden retrievers look like this, thought Blair. He hanging out the passenger window, hoping that the brisk morning air in his face would miraculously cure his nausea. He fingered the cold, slick sides of the soft drink can, basically wishing he was dead. Jim was making a great leap of faith in not reporting him to Simon. He closed his eyes, even though he knew it would send his head spinning. More payment for last night's indiscretions. Pushing his physical discomforts aside, he went through a meditation he'd known since childhood. He was determined not to further embarrass his senior partner.

Not that Jim wasn't watching every move he made. Probably listening to every heartbeat and monitoring every breath. He concentrated on the rush of air across his skin, imagining wind in the trees, or sailing above the clouds. Any image that kept the memories of the fountain far, far away.

Blair was caught of guard when the truck stopped. He hadn't been paying attention to their progress. "We're here, Chief. You still with me?"

"Don't hover, Jim. You have cause, but I'm doing okay. I'm going to let you take the lead on this one. I need to lose the headache before I cross swords with Cascade's very own representative from the 18th century." He answered Jim's snicker with a grin. They'd spent many an evening discussing the views of Councilman Price. Blair firmly believed he was the pawn of satan.

Considering the number of calls Simon had taken from the Mayor, it wasn't a shock when they found Andrew Price waiting at the front door for them. He quickly ushered them to a comfortable office in his home overlooking a most of Cascade and the mountains. The halls were lined with family photos. Several Blair recognized as their victim. Bruce Price was a fine football and baseball player, and his father had clearly been proud of him.

Councilman Price was gracious enough, but made it very clear that he was not pleased with the pace of the investigation. He peppered them with questions as soon as they were seated. Jim was more cooperative than usual, including a detailed explanation of why Bruce's body was still not at the funeral home. Andrew Price did not take that piece of news calmly.

"What? A homicide? Why wasn't I informed of this earlier?"

The critical piece of evidence wasn't discovered until last night, sir. We needed information from forensics before we could proceed."

"I still think it's outrageous," fumed Price. The is difficult enough for my wife and our other children without having wild speculations floating around."

"We're certain that there was a fourth person with your son yesterday afternoon. Unfortunately, we don't have an identity. Any help you can give us about Bruce's friends, his routine, who he dated, might be important. We don't know enough right now to rule anything out."

"His best friends are on the baseball team. It's a city-wide all-star team. Here." Price carefully pulled a team photo from a frame on his desk. "The names are listed at the bottom."

"Thank you. We'll be sure to return this to you." Blair accepted the photograph, gave it a quick glance and slipped into a case folder. The perfect all-American kid on the perfect all-American team. He waited expectantly, wondering where Jim was going to take this next. His partner had been a part of this world. Blair trusted his instincts.

"Last night, your wife said that one of the victims, Tara Long, was Bruce's girlfriend. Could she tell us anything further about their relationship?"

"Detective, my wife isn't up to another interview right now. Bruce was a good-looking boy. There were no shortage of young ladies in his life. We've known Marnie Jacob and her family for years. We helped host her mother's wedding reception in June. Marnie and Bruce were just good friends. The other girl, Tara, did you say? I guess he'd been seeing her for a couple of months. Pretty enough.""

Blair's eyes flickered ominously, but he didn't say anything. "Were they serious?" Jim probed.

"Bruce was as serious as you would expect a senior in high school to be. Like I said, there were lots of pretty girls. He had plenty of growing up to do."

"Would that include sowing his oats, sir?" Blair almost dropped his pen. Nice, Jim. Go for blunt.

Price, however, didn't miss a beat. "I never expected any boy of mine to be a monk, Detective Ellison. I'm sure your father had the same conversations with you that I had with Bruce." Blair noted the shrug, the half-smile. Just one member of the club to another. He was willing to bet said discussion differed significantly from Naomi's conversations about sexuality.

"What if I told you the young lady was pregnant? Would that be ... unexpected?"

Price stiffened, but didn't lose his temper. "Well, Detective, I would think my son knew better." His eyes narrowed. "Will that information be released to the media?"

"Not at this time. It may have a bearing on the case, however. Assuming your son knew, would he have told you?"

"Yes, I think he would have." He continued with ice in his voice. "You're making quite a jump here. Perhaps the child wasn't his."

"We're waiting for DNA results," answered Jim coolly.

"I can't see how this has anything to do with my son's death. Do you seriously think someone would murder my son and Marnie over another girl's illegitimate child?"

"I'm not implying anything, Mr. Price. It's simply good procedure to investigate every possible angle." Jim wasn't letting him off the hook. Blair sensed they were about to lose this man as an ally. He took a deep breath and decided to butt in.

"Mr. Price, if someone intentionally harmed your son, we don't want that person to go unpunished. We're well aware of how painful this must be, but maybe you could tell us what you would have expected your son to do? Did you ever actually discuss this possibility with Bruce?"

Price softened, as if the idea of dealing with a unexpected child would be a picnic in comparison to arranging a funeral. "I would have expected my son to come to me. My position on social issues are well known. I seriously doubt that Bruce would have paid for an abortion, or helped the girl arrange one. I also doubt he would have seriously considered marriage, or abandoning the girl entirely. I suppose I would have contacted the girl's family and made the appropriate financial arrangements for her." He stood abruptly. "I'm sorry gentlemen, we'll have to continue this another time. I think I should speak with my wife and prepare her."

"We can show ourselves out," volunteered Jim. "We will be in touch as soon as we know anything."

Price's composure melted for just a moment. "My current outburst aside, I want you to find out the truth. It's such a shock. I will let you know if I think of anything else, or if my wife has some insight I'm unaware of. I will call you. I promise you, I will not allow my personal feelings or my position in city government to interfere with your investigation." He shook hands with both men. "I understand through the Mayor and Captain Banks that you two are the best Major Crimes has. Do whatever needs to be done, gentlemen. I mean that sincerely."

 

Simon was going to be peeved, but after their late start the morning was shot. Jim drove to a grocery store near the station and bought Blair a sports drink and a yogurt. His partner still looked like death warmed over. Hopefully he could coax a little life into Sandburg's demeanor before they had to face Simon. He got a roast beef sandwich for himself. A grocery parking lot didn't have a lot of ambience, but at least they could eat and talk in peace. Jim waited until Blair had downed most of the yogurt before he asked his first question.

"What did you think of Price?"

"You mean, did I think he told us the truth? The man with sentinel senses would know better than I. Did I think he was a jerk? What?" Blair gagged on a bite of yogurt, and gave Jim a sheepish look. "I promise to barf outside the truck."

"You certainly will," Jim answered with mock ferocity. "I didn't mean to press. I know you still feel pretty rocky. How about more aspirin?"

"If you've got 'em, I won't turn them down." Blair gulped down two more tablets. "I did wonder a little. He was pretty certain how Bruce would react, but I sure pulled some stuff at that age Naomi didn't expect. What about you?"

Jim snickered. "My dad would have been one hundred per cent certain could predict what I would do, and would probably be one hundred per cent wrong. Let's hope the Price family had a little more rapport than that."

Blair forced down another spoonful of yogurt. "To be honest, I couldn't get past the image of my mom, pregnant with me, facing off with a guy like that. Just throw in a little cash and make the problem go away. What if Tara didn't want to go away?"

"Same thought occurred to me. If it's worth anything, even a young Naomi would have eaten a guy like him for breakfast. She has the temper to go with that red hair."

"You think? It just overwhelms me sometimes. Like I said, there certainly were easier paths for Naomi to take." Blair gulped the last of sports drink and gathered up their trash. Jim was the same neat freak in the truck that he was in the loft. "I guess where Tara is concerned, we don't know enough about her to make a guess." He made the short journey to the nearest garbage can and climbed back in the truck. "You've gotta tell me, Jim. Did William Ellison really discuss these things with his number one son? Is this the thing with the country club set, like Price said?"

Jim laughed out loud and started the truck. "It was real simple for me. Number one son would have been number one dead. My dad didn't need to spell out the particulars beyond that."

Blair couldn't help but chortle along with his partner, even if it did make his head ache. "Well, let's hear it for openness with your teenager."

&&&&

The meeting back at the station turned out to be brief. Rafe and Henri confirmed the list of friends offered by Andrew Price. They'd gotten many of the same names. They had a similar list of Marnie's friends, an annual for Blair, as well as enlargements of the three victims' school pictures. None of the kids had really been in any trouble, but Bruce and Marnie had long standing reputations as party animals. Tara, on the other hand, was an enigma. The guidance counselor remembered speaking with her once as a sophomore, that she was a quiet girl, and hadn't mixed with more popular kids until late in her senior year. Of the three, she was the only one with a job. They had only one name to pursue for Tara, the girl she had shared a locker with for three years. Dan Wolfe and Serena were still working on their end and had left messages, but supposedly had nothing to report.

Jim had the good sense to call the hospital before they got to the station, so at least they could tell Simon they had made an attempt. Mrs. Long was still under sedation and not available for questioning. The husband was still unavailable. According to friends that had stayed with Sylvia Long, Tara's father wasn't due to check in until Sunday. As bizarre as it seemed to Jim, his wife had no emergency means of contacting him. It irritated Jim to no end, until his partner quietly pointed out that it wasn't all that different from Blair's arrangement with Naomi.

Since that avenue of investigation was still closed, Jim made it clear that he and Blair would start with the housekeeper, Claire Williams, and then question anyone they could find at Tara's workplace. They would also speak with Tara's locker partner. Brown and Rafe would continue with the seemingly endless list of friends for Bruce and Marnie, including the team members that attended other schools.

Considering Simon's earlier mood, Jim was braced for a few comments concerning their lack of progress. Simon gave Sandburg more than one searching glance, and noted the heavily bandaged hand, but chose not to quiz them over their morning lapses. Apparently Andrew Price had telephoned several of the powers above to convey his satisfaction with the investigation and his confidence with Detectives Ellison and Sandburg. That took a little of the pressure off Major Crimes, and Simon seemed willing to let the matter rest, at least for the moment.

&&&&

"Chief, I want to talk to Dan Wolfe before we go over to the Calvin place. Can you crash in the break room for a few minutes?" Blair didn't answer. The emotion seemed to drain out of his face.

"I'll go talk to Serena. She might have some crumb for us." Blair was out of the bullpen with the annual and photos so fast Jim was alone before he realized what was happening. Blair was apparently still skipping elevators, and Jim found himself running down the stairs to catch up.

"Sandburg! Sandburg, will you wait up?" The retreating back below him finally came to a halt. Jim took the remaining steps two at a time. "What is with you? Come on, Sandburg, I'm not insulting you here. The morgue isn't your strongest area under the best of circumstances."

Blair was breathing hard, and leaned back against the cinderblock walls of the stairwell. He stared at the ceiling as if it contained the wisdom of the ages. "I don't need a lot of unoccupied time here, Jim. Just let it go. Go talk to Dan. You know where I'll be."

Jim didn't have a ready answer for that. For the second or third or tenth time today, he'd missed the boat with his partner. "Sandburg, I don't know how I let you do this to me. Now that we've established that I'm an insensitive clod, would you please be consistent with your mental stress so I can keep track?" At least he got a smirk in response. "Did you have another flashback, Chief? Have I been that clueless? Again?"

"I'm okay, Jim. Don't overreact."

"You didn't answer me."

"I really was okay until we came back here. Too much down time. I let my mind wander."

"So what's your plan, Sandburg? Perpetual motion as long term therapy? You're worse than I am!"

"Well, now that's a stretch. I promised you, if it got bad, I'd rely on you. I'll talk to Serena. That's pretty clinical. I can handle that. We'll see Claire Williams, and talk to people where Tara worked. I'll get through today. Let's just get on with it."

"You really mean it? You'll tell me if it gets bad? Even if I forget to pay attention?"

Jim had to be content with Sandburg's wordless nod.

&&&&

Jim interrupted Dan in the middle of another autopsy. Normally, Jim would have just come back later. Uncharacteristically, Dan overruled his offer and insisted he wait. Jim joined the mountains of paperwork in what Dan called an office, shifting a towering stack from a chair to the floor so he could sit down. How did the guy ever find anything?

Dan came in an shut the door firmly. "I just released the Price boy to the funeral home, but you were right. He had faint bruising, but not where you'd usually look for it. Stay in the chair. Bend your head down and I'll show you." Dan put both hands on the back of Jim's head, splaying the fingers out on all sides. He pressed his finger tips into the scalp just slightly.

"Draw your own conclusions, Ellison, but someone either gave that kid a serious scalp massage or held his head underwater."

Jim nodded in agreement. "Thanks, Dan. Let's just keep this between the two of us for right now, okay?" Considering the morning's revelations, he need more time to think of a way to break this to Sandburg. A lot more time.

&&&&

Claire Williams, kindly soul that she was, took one look at Blair and refused to speak until he was seated in her kitchen with tea and cracker. She pored a glass of milk for good measure. Blair felt too lousy to argue on his own behalf. Jim ignored his partner's non-verbal pleas for rescue and just enjoyed the show. If she could improve Blair's physical condition, he was all for it.

Blair valiantly made several attempts before Claire bustled into another chair at the small kitchen table. She folded her hands, smiled, and whispered, "Now you can ask me your questions, young man. Eat your crackers."

Blair managed a wan smile of his own. "Am I a parrot? Polly want a cracker?"

"Don't be sassy. Eat."

Blair laid out the pictures of their three victims. "First of all, we just want to confirm a few things. I know how upset you were yesterday, but can you tell us if these are the kids you saw with Marnie yesterday?"

Claire studied the pictures closely. "This is the girl, yes. The boy? Well, that's not the young man who was with Marnie."

Blair tried to cover his shock for fear of alarming the lady. "Look again, Claire. Are you certain beyond a doubt?"

"Oh, yes. I'm very sure of it. This boy I recognize, but he wasn't with the girls yesterday. Is that a problem, Detective?"

"No, and this is my fault," Blair answered, trying to reassure Claire. "I should have asked you this yesterday. It never occurred to me that the kids you saw might not be the same as the ones who drowned. Can you describe the person who you saw with the girls before you left?"

"Tall. Slender. Dark hair. He was wearing sunglasses."

"How tall, Claire? As tall as Detective Ellison?" Jim stood up to be a human yardstick.

"No, I'd say he was a little shorter. He had a thin nose. I'd say he was the same age. I'm sorry. That can't be very helpful."

Blaire opened the annual. "The school gave us a list of kids that were friends of Marnie and the boy that drowned. Would you be willing to look?" So began a long, frustrating afternoon.

&&&&

Tara worked at a school-arranged job in an insurance office. Blair looked beat, even after Claire Williams' cracker intervention, so Jim took the lead on this one. It was a busy place. Her immediate supervisor, Frances Vales, echoed the guidance counselor. Tara was quiet and friendly.

"Ms. Vales, did she ever talk about her family?"

"Let's see. She rarely mentioned her parents. Her dad traveled a lot. I got the feeling they clashed, but what teenager doesn't? Her mom - well, I remember she asked me once about this dress she was wearing, and made the comment that her mother was too old to have a fashion sense or help her shop. It was a big deal to her that she had her own money and so she could buy her own things."

"Did she mention any friends in particular?"

"Not by name. That was the only time I ever had to reprimand her. She was using the phone at work to make personal calls. I may be reading too much in to this after the fact, but I had the impression she was trying to keep her home life and her social life very separate. When we had our little confrontation about the phone, she said something like these kids couldn't call her at home. She never did it again, though."

"No mention of a boyfriend?"

"Not until recently. She was pretty taken with someone the last few months. Oh, wait a minute. A boy came and picked her up once, about a month ago." She readily identified Bruce Price's photo. Beyond that, she could offer no other help. Basically, it was another dead end as far as Tara Long was concerned.

Their next stop was the home of Lisa Foresman, the locker partner. In fact, she lived only a few blocks from Tara Long. When Blair read off the two addresses, Jim did a double-take. It was in a very working class neighborhood. When they located the modest, white home with the neatly trimmed lawn, the contrast with their earlier visits was obvious.

"You thinking what I'm thinking, Jim?"

"Yep." Jim shut off the truck. "Tara Long didn't have the money to run with Price or Jacobs."

"It can be done, Jim. I'm a lifetime expert on substituting funky for truly cool."

Jim laughed and allowed a small feeling of relief to take hold. "You are truly cool, Sandburg. That's why you can get by with funky." Sandburg seemed improved, at least physically. He'd downed another sports drink on the drive over and some cookies. Despite his outward composure, Jim still worried about what was going on inside. If the devils of memory were at bay for the moment, they certainly weren't gone for good.

"Spoken like the child of privilege, no offense intended. It's an art form to make ripped jeans work in a place where the bathroom is bigger than your whole house. We need to figure out what she was using as her ticket in." He grinned. It was his first real smile of the day. "We'll compare notes sometime, rich kid."

The front door opened before they hit the porch. Mrs. Foresman introduced herself, and showed them in.

"I'm sorry we didn't call ahead, Mrs. Foresman. Cascade High gave us your daughter's name." Jim's glance fell on a raven-haired girl seated in the living room. "Is this Lisa?" he asked. "Hi. I'm Detective Ellison, and this is Detective Sandburg. We need to ask you some questions about Tara Long."

Lisa's brown eyes spilled over with tears, and her mother went to the couch and pulled her into a hug. "Sit down, Detectives. I was about to call the police station and try to get someone over here. This may be hard for Lisa, but no one knows Tara better than she does." She waited expectantly for Lisa to bring herself under control.

"Tara and I have been friends since second grade. We did everything together. She was my best friend." Tears streamed down the girl's face, but she swallowed her sobs and kept going. "My mom and I decided I should tell you everything, even if it's not very nice."

Jim and Blair exchanged glances. Blair would normally handle this kind of interview. A silent "You okay? Yeah" took place between the two men. Blair pulled his straight-back chair, recently retrieved from the kitchen, closer to the couch where the girl was sitting.

"What's not very nice, Lisa?"

"Tara changed a lot this year. It started with the job and the money ... and the clothes. Tara's parents are older, and her dad's real strict. When Tara finally had her own money, she bought stuff her parents wouldn't approve of. The change-your-clothes-at-school thing. Tara was always pretty, and she started to dress so people would notice." She looked pleadingly at Blair and her own mother, as if she wanted them to fill in the blanks.

Mrs. Foresman seemed to sense her daughter's difficulty. "Detectives, I won't mince words. The word we're looking for here is suggestive, or worse. Tara looked more like a streetwalker than the sweet girl we've known all these years Some of the attention she got wasn't in her best interests."

"What kind of attention, Lisa? We really need to know." Blair's calm, quiet voice kept Lisa talking. Jim inwardly nodded in appreciation. Sandburg might feel like a gum on the sidewalk, but he knew how to interview.

"Tara and I were always in 'smart kid' classes. This year we had senior stuff to take, you know, like Civics that aren't so academic. She met people like Bruce and Marnie, who didn't know nerds from the burbs like us. The was she was dressing, they noticed. Tara was like the new penny that had just been discovered. They invited her to parties and things that, well, they weren't normal for us. Tara was pretty and smart and she was playing this role, like she was some wild child. They were willing to pay her way and she was willing to act the part to get to go along. She invited me sometimes, but I wouldn't go after a while. It got to the point I just saw her at the locker, and she was this princess that I just didn't know." She stopped and buried her head in her hands.

Mrs. Foresman curled an arm around the heartbroken girl and took over. "Tara always came to church with us, had dinner a couple times a week. Her dad's gone most of the time, and Sylvia works a lot in the evenings. When Lisa told me Tara was drinking and staying out until all hours, I had trouble believing it. It just got worse. She dropped some classes, and got more involved with these kids. Sylvia never knew, and when I tried to bring it up, she shut me down pretty quick. Maybe she didn't want to know. I'll never forgive myself for not pushing the issue."

"I should have done something," sobbed Lisa. "I let her go and now she's dead."

Jim was relieved once again that Blair felt well enough to step in here. Distraught teenagers were not his specialty. Blair took a few minutes to just talk, coaxing the girl back to some semblance of calm. Probably a rerun of who knew how many sessions in Hargrove Hall, counseling freshmen. It took time, but Blair was good at it.

"Anyway, she started dating Bruce, and things got really confusing. She has a boyfriend, a guy named Danny. He's older, and Tara said he treated her like a queen. He graduated two years ago and went to school in Portland. They've written all this time, and she has a ring from him." She gave her mother a guilty look.

"What is this all about, Lisa?" interrupted her mother. "Tara's dad forbid her to see him."

"Well, Tara didn't listen. She mailed the letters at the post office, and the ones from Danny came here. I'm sorry, Mom. She asked me to do it. It was all a big secret, and they were going to get married when Tara graduated, and then all of a sudden there's Bruce. I kept asking Tara what she thought she was doing, because she was still getting letters from Danny. It was so dishonest, and Tara was just going downhill. When we walked together at graduation, it was like I didn't even know her. She was half-wasted with champagne before they put the diploma in her hand."

"What about more recently?" questioned Blair.

"Well, Marnie moved into that guest house, and Tara was over there every second she could get. As long as Tara showed up every so often with a smile, her mom figured everything was just fine. I had a terrible argument with Tara a couple of weeks ago, because she was telling her mom she was spending the night over here, but she was really with Bruce or Marnie, or both. Anyway, when I told her I didn't like it, she bragged that her parents and Danny were just part of her life that she intended to leave behind, and that I was pretty much a loser, too, for not getting with it. Danny called a couple days later, and I probably said more than I should have. I ... I just was tired of covering for her, you know?"

"So this Danny, he knows Tara is seeing someone else?" Jim asked briskly.

"Well, I don't remember exactly what I said, but I was pretty blunt. He was super upset, but he couldn't come home right then to talk to her. He's really just crazy in love with her."

"When was the last time you talked to her, Lisa?"

"She called to apologize a couple days later, and I asked her to promise that she'd make things right with Danny, and to not ask me to cover for her any more. She said Danny was going to be all taken care of pretty soon, and that her parents would be out of the picture. I didn't ask he what she meant. Supposedly, she was moving in with Marnie when Marnie's mom got back from Europe." She swallowed hard and struggled to get the next sentences out. "I never saw her again. I didn't do anything, just because she hurt my feelings and I was still kind of mad. She was my best friend and I just let her walk away into disaster."

Blair was completely absorbed with Lisa, but Jim felt like he'd been zapped to another dimensional plane. A girl he'd never laid eyes on just summed up in her last two sentences his entire relationship with Sandburg. This child was crying Jim Ellison's guilty tears. Jim had to force himself to concentrate on the business at hand.

"Lisa, did you ever know of Tara taking drugs?" Lisa gasped, and Blair patted her arm. "We sorry to upset you more, Lisa, but we have to ask. The lab found traces of a prescription drug in her bloodstream, and it may have contributed to her death."

"Marnie talked about having, I don't know, tranquilizers or sleeping pills, like it was all very sophisticated. She said when she took time to sleep, she needed to sleep, because she didn't want to waste any of the good times. I never heard Tara talk about taking them. In fact, she always teased Marnie about her pills. Marnie had tons of vitamins and herbs that she took. I always thought it was just part of her whole 'I'm special and better than you' outlook." She fell silent. Her mother took her hand, giving Lisa a few words of encouragement. "I may not have understood everything that was going on in her life, but I just don't think Tara was into drugs."

They had to ask. Jim knew it, and Blair certainly knew it. Jim waited, that silent partner-to-partner communication taking the place of words. With a small nod, Blair asked the next question. "Lisa, do you know anything about Tara being pregnant?"

Mrs. Foresman whispered, "Oh, dear God, no." Lisa dissolved into more sobs, but nodded. "She said something along the lines of money taking care of a lot awkward situations, and then something about being more careful. I didn't ask for an explanation. Our church discourages abortion, and her dad would have just blown a fuse. I didn't even want to think that was what Tara was hinting at."

"When was this, Lisa? It might be important." When Blair asked the question, Jim thought back to their earlier conversation with Andrew Price. Maybe both of these kids were out of sync with their parents.

"When she called to apologize," answered Lisa. "I worried about it later, but at the time, I was still so ticked off with her. I should have called her. How could I not have called her?" She buried her face in her mother's shoulder. Mrs. Foresman gave them a bleak look.

Jim nudged his partner. There probably wasn't much more to get. "Thanks for talking to us, Lisa. Can you tell us how to get a hold of Danny? Like his name, or where he lived?"

Lisa shook her head. "After all those letters, I should know, but Danny always just put the first name with a heart instead of a last name. The address changed pretty frequently, except for the Portland part. I never really spent time with him, and I was kind of surprised when he called. Tara was pretty secretive about the whole thing. For awhile, at least until the letters came regularly, I wondered it she was making him up. If she was pregnant, it wasn't Danny. The last time she saw him was around Christmas. Bruce wasn't an item yet."

Jim read her the description they had gotten from Claire Williams. Lisa confirmed everything, and added a few more details. She didn't have a picture.

"Honey, go lie down in your room. I'll be in after a bit." Mrs. Foresman shooed her daughter down the hall, and came out onto the porch with them. "Detectives, anything you need, you call. My daughter may have failed in her responsibilities as a true friend, but anything she knows I will make sure she tells you."

"Don't be hard on her, Mrs. Foresman," commented Jim, supremely conscious of the fact that her judgement fit his own situation pretty accurately. Failed in the responsibilities of a true friend, indeed. "She's obviously a good kid, and she did her best."

"Maybe so, Detective. Too many people in Tara's life dropped the ball, including me. In time, I'll have my own forgiveness to beg. Such a waste." She sighed. "Sylvia Long is coming home tomorrow. She might not sound like much of a mother, but she loved Tara more than her own life. She may have been oblivious recently, but I think she knew about Danny. Maybe she can help you."

&&&&

"Sandburg, how about if I drop you off at the loft. We can't do any more today. You can crash for a bit and I'll wrap things up with Simon."

"That's not necessary." Blair had his head leaned against the back window of the truck. His mouth was saying one thing and his body the opposite.

"It might not be necessary, but it's practical. Look, we have to go right by the loft on the way to the station. You're tired and you need to eat. Don't be stubborn."

"Well, I'm too tired to argue with you, that's for sure," Blair answered listlessly. "Whatever, Jim."

Not quite as good as a "yes", but Jim figured it was better than nothing. He dropped Sandburg off with instructions to order some Chinese and to take a nap. Jim shoved down any worries about leaving Blair alone. Weighed against a possible confrontation with Simon, it seemed like the better alternative. He'd just have to make sure his absence was brief.

&&&&

Henri and Rafe were already in Simon's office. Figuring there might be a little safety in numbers, Jim joined them.

Simon barely looked up when Jim entered. "Please tell me some good news about this case. I need to see the Mayor in twenty minutes."

"I think it got worse. The housekeeper says the boy she saw was not Bruce Price."

That little tidbit earned him three shocked looks and a shout from Simon. "What? And you didn't call this in? What do you mean it wasn't Price?"

"Just what I said. I'll take the rap on this, Captain. I was in charge." Why can't this day just end? "The lady said she saw three kids when she left for shopping. We had three dead kids in the pool. It never occurred to anyone that three didn't equal three."

Simon left the desk and paced in front of the window. "I don't believe this. I absolutely don't believe it. We are going to look like idiots."

"Not really, Captain." Jim could tell Rafe and Brown were looking for an excuse to escape the coming explosion. He didn't blame them. He'd flipped the radio on during the drive over. Their case was still the lead story. "Think about it in positive terms. Until late last night, we didn't even have a suspicion of a fourth person. Now, we know there was a fourth, and we have a general description from the housekeeper."

"We have no name. Besides, the fact that he was there doesn't make whoever he is a murderer." Simon's frustration was clear. "I can't release a statement based on that kind of evidence."

"So don't. You can reassure the Mayor and Councilman Price. Buy us a little breathing room. I'd argue that it might be better not to tip off our mystery guy, anyway. We'll keep digging." Jim turned to his fellow detectives. "I take it you guys came up empty?"

"Other than the fact that Tara was a relatively new face with the Price and Jacobs, we struck out. Sorry, Jim. Everyone we talked to said the same thing. The kids knew how to party, but didn't take drugs. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe there just isn't anything to get."

The room was silent for a moment while Simon considered his options. Jim didn't envy his Captain in these situations. It was always a bad deal when a high profile case didn't break. "Brown, leave your notes with Jim. I'm pulling you two off the case until we have a more solid lead. This isn't the only case we need to work on." Jim hoped to beat a hasty retreat with the other two. "You're not going anywhere, Ellison. Get back in here and shut the door."

Jim felt like a schoolboy in the principal's office. Reluctantly, he took a seat. "Seems like we left off here earlier today, sir."

"Don't play games with me, Ellison. I've definitely left you with Sandburg too long. I want the absolute truth from you, and I have about three minutes. You still think it's murder?"

"Dan found a few more things that suggest a murder rather than an accident. Everything says the kids didn't routinely abuse drugs. It was a legal prescription. I think the murderer added it somehow, knowing what a deadly combination it is. Yeah, I still see it as a homicide. Spur of the moment, maybe, but homicide."

"Now tell me about Sandburg."

Jim was silent.

"I'm not going to play twenty questions with you, Jim."

"He had a little trouble with it being a drowning case, like I said. If you think about it, that's not all that surprising." The look on Simon's face told Jim that he had his captain's complete and undivided attention, whether he wanted it or not.

"How nice, Detective. I haven't played "GO FISH" since Darryl was in elementary school. How much trouble are we talking about?"

"He had a rough night. He has a few things to work through that I didn't know about. It's under control. "

"Ellison, on the Sandburg obfuscation scale that's about a two." Simon was losing patience. Jim knew he needed to change tactics.

"Give me until tomorrow, Simon. We can interview Sylvia Long in the morning. The hospital is releasing her. If we don't get a break, you can take both of us off the case."

"Please explain to me why would I destroy my credibility with the Mayor even further by taking you off the case?"

"Because if we can't resolve this quickly, I won't put Sandburg through it. I'll give you the whole chapter and verse before that happens. Just let it wait one more day, Simon."

"You know how I feel about Sandburg, but you're putting me in a difficult position. Whatever you don't want to tell me is probably something I don't want to hear, but I can't operate in the dark like this."

"Consider it a club of two. New members need not apply. Could I leave now?" Please, Simon. Please trust me on this one.

Simon sighed, but waved him out the door.

&&&&

About the time Jim was making a dash out of Major Crimes, Blair Sandburg flinched in his sleep. He was half dangling off one of the couches, face buried in the cushions. The keys hadn't quite made it to the basket. He'd managed to get one shoe untied before giving way to total exhaustion.

Fingers dug into the upholstery. Caught in his own nightmare, Blair was a restless prisoner. Alex was his only companion. Alex, laughter, and a fading shimmer of light.

&&&&

"Sandburg! Sandburg, WAKE UP!"

Blair was awake, all right. If you can call shaking, dripping in sweat, and tangled-up with your partner on the hardwood floor, all right. Blood was dripping from Jim's nose.

"Sandburg? Are you okay?"

"Did I do that?" Blair tried to scramble away, but just made matters worse. Jim finally pushed his shoulders back into the couch firmly.

"STAY PUT." He was back in a few seconds with a class of water, holding a dishtowel to the abused nose. He hauled Blair onto the couch. "Take a deep breath and drink this. You're going to give yourself a coronary. Hell, you're going to give both of us a coronary." Dabbing at his nose, he took a seat on the coffee table facing Blair.

Blair was still shaking. "Sorry. I can't believe I hit you."

"You didn't. You were thrashing around and screaming when I got here. I was just dumb enough to get in the way. You throw a pretty good punch, Sandburg."

"Forgive me if I don't find that a comfort."

"Did you order food before you crashed?"

"I'm not hun..."

"Don't even start with me, Sandburg. You're going to eat, without a doubt. First I'm going to call for Chinese, and then we're going to go through the whole story, from the very beginning. It's my payback time. Now you just figure out where you want to start."

&&&&

Jim lay back, watching the stars. Even at midnight, the summer air was cooling, but not cold. Next to him, Sandburg was finally asleep. They'd talked through every painful, gruesome inch of memory, or at least what Blair could remember and articulate. Alex. The fountain. The torturous path from then to now. They talked until Blair succumbed to sheer exhaustion.

They'd brought sleeping bags up here to the roof. Blair said he felt safer, up here in the open, under the sky. No walls. No sense of being closed in. Jim had been more than happy to agree.

In the darkness, beyond the capability of ordinary eyes, Jim watched the steady rise and fall of his partner's chest. In the weeks after being pulled from the fountain, Blair had put a cobra in his pocket and lived with it, with the help and tacit approval of the one person who should have known better. Jim had been in the military far too long not to know what post traumatic stress could do to even the strongest personality. Now that the cobra had taken it's deadly strike, Jim was determined not to make a similar mistake. Blair had a long way to go, but he was fighting. At this moment, Jim couldn't have been more proud of the young man he considered both Guide and friend.

&&&&

As promised, they started with Mrs. Long.

It was slow going. Sylvia Long was home, alone, and inconsolable. She wanted to help, anything to find out what happened to her baby, but sobbed uncontrollably. She offered them coffee and got lost in her own kitchen. She wanted them to leave, then begged them to stay. Jim tried to halt the interview, and offered to try again later, or wait until her husband returned. She answered him by turning to Blair and asking him if her knew where her medicine was. She was certain she needed to take some medicine.

Blair took over. Jim ducked out to call social services. This lady was alone, without family, and obviously in no shape to deal with her daughter's death. She probably never should have been sent home from the hospital. Sometimes it helped to know people in low places. Jim wasted no time in cutting a wide swath through social services. They needed someone here and needed them now, not tomorrow or the next day.

By the time Jim got back, Blair had things settled down. Mrs. Long had was comparatively calm. Coffee was on, and Blair was buttering toast. The missing prescriptions had been located, and he was trying to figure out when Mrs. Long had taken her last dose. To be honest, Jim saw flashes of Naomi. It was a gift to have the right words, the right gesture, to heal and soothe. What a great cover for your own turmoil, Sandburg, Jim mused. No wonder you can fool everyone else in your life. Recalling his own earlier thoughts on Blair's miracle recoveries from trauma, he vowed to keep that in mind

Blair tried to start out with a few general questions. When was Tara's birthday, what did she like, how did she spend her time? He didn't push hard. Unfortunately, Sylvia Long didn't know anything about Marnie Jacobs and her daughter's new friends. She seemed confused by questions about Tara's job, and was certain that Tara spent all her time with her best friend, Lisa Foresman. When Mrs. Long couldn't decide whether her daughter was seventeen or eighteen, it was clearly hopeless. Abruptly, Blair guided the stricken woman out of the kitchen, telling her to splash some water on her face. Once the footsteps retreated a safe distance, he leaned close to his partner and whispered, "She doesn't have a clue. This is a dead end."

"What? We need a name, Sandburg," hissed Jim in return.

"It doesn't matter what we need. Tara had a life completely different than what her mother thinks she had. She either really never knew, or she's so messed up now with grief and the anti-anxiety meds that she can't sort it out." Blair looked apprehensively toward the sounds of water splashing into a sink. "I'm not going to ask her about the pregnancy, or Danny, or anything else."

"We've got to!" Jim insisted. "Look, I know you feel bad for her, but..."

"This isn't about how I feel! There'll be another time. I'm sure she can't tell us anything. If we do it now, she'll just end up right back in the hospital, and we still won't know anything. I mean it, Jim. We've got to let it drop. We'll find another way." He straightened up hastily as Mrs. Long slipped back into the kitchen. She was carrying a small box and a picture.

"This was a secret. I don't think it matters now." She placed the box in Jim's hand. Inside was a jewelry case. Jim looked at her, puzzled, but she nodded in encouragement, tears streaming down her face again. The case snapped open to reveal a tiny, delicate diamond solitaire.

"Tara was so happy. I told her they were too young, and she didn't want her Daddy to know. He's a little old fashioned, you see." He shaky fingers traced the velvet case. "I think she was going to announce it when she started school this fall. Here's their picture. It's from prom. Charles wouldn't let Tara go out with him when he graduated that spring. He said she was too young for a boy out of high school. Danny gave her the ring later that summer, right before he left for school. She hid it, but she showed me, and I promised I'd keep the secret."

Blair examined the photograph. He handed it to Jim, tapping the corner to draw Jim's attention to something. The young man in the photograph fit the description given by Claire Williams.

Blair continued to probe. "When was this taken, Mrs. Long?"

"Two years ago last April." She gazed at the photo, obviously lost in happier memories. "Didn't she look pretty? Tara was just a sophomore. Danny seemed like such a nice boy."

Jim pressed for details. "You wouldn't have an address? A phone number? Has he been notified, Mrs. Long?"

"Oh, no. I can't really. My husband, Charles, forbid them to see each other, like I said. Not the right kind of boy for his Tara. Danny went to school in Portland. They write, I think. We don't talk about it, knowing how Charles felt. I've been worrying about how to let Danny know."

Mrs. Long was too absorbed in her own thoughts to catch the look of incredulity between the two detectives in her kitchen. "What school in Portland, Mrs. Long?" asked Blair. "What about his parents?"

"Oh, I never met them. He lived with his mother. Something with an L... I should know, shouldn't I?"

"What about Danny's last name?" asked Jim. It was worth a shot.

The tears were starting again. "I just can't remember right now. I should know. It was a nice name." A smile flitted across her face as she lost herself in memory. "I was working the night of the prom. Her friend Lisa's mother helped her get ready for the dance. He brought her white roses. I just wanted her to be happy."

Jim was ready to explode. "Try to remember, Mrs. Long. We really need to know."

"She loved that dress." Mrs. Long wasn't paying any attention to Jim. Blair shook his head and led her into the living room. "Maybe she should be buried in that dress. Would that be a good idea?" she asked Blair.

Jim could have bashed his own head through the wall. Blair was right. He heard a car pull up. Hopefully their social worker had arrived.

He was relieved when he saw a familiar face. Nancy Gilland had worked referrals when Jim was in vice. She was compassionate, resourceful, and not afraid to help with an investigation. Standing on the front walk, Jim gave her the short version. Nancy agreed to try to coax a name out of Mrs. Long as soon as she could.

Blair smiled at the new arrival. "Someone's here to stay with you, Mrs. Long. We need to go now. Could we keep the picture for a few days? And the ring?"

"You'll bring them back?" she sobbed.

"Yes. I promise. Just a couple of days." Blair traded places with Nancy.

"I'm Nancy Gilland, Mrs. Long. We'll be just fine."

Mrs. Long didn't seem to be paying attention, but she nodded. "Nancy...you'll bring back my picture? And the ring?"

"I'll bring it by myself," soothed Blair. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Long."

As he pulled the door shut, Jim rubbed his temple in disbelief. "Nancy will ask her again later. We need to go back to the housekeeper. What do you want to bet we've found our missing guy?"

"He fits Claire's description. How fast can you drive back over to the Calvin's? I'll call ahead and see if she's there."

Claire Wilson was in her kitchen. She put on her glasses and studied the photo carefully, just as she had with the annual pictures on the previous afternoon. She was just as certain. They had the right boy.

&&&&

"Great. Just great," muttered Jim. They were stalled in the truck, caught in a major downtown traffic jam. "We think we have a picture, but it's over two years old. We don't know his last name. We don't know his parents' names. We don't know what he drives. He might be in school. In Portland, no less. This ought to be fabulously productive."

"Look at it this way, Jim. We've got three chances. We can try the picture at Cascade High. If that doesn't work, we can trace the picture or we can trace the ring. Maybe both."

"A prom picture from two years ago and a ring that probably came out of a gum machine. Simon will be thrilled."

"Don't be a grouch, Jim. It's more than we had. If Nancy is a good as you say, she might get the name for us. At least we're sure there was another guy there besides Bruce Price."

After another few minutes of frustration, and Jim abruptly pulled into a parking space in front of a jewelry store. He shrugged at Blair's questioning expression. "We're damn near parked anyway, Sandburg. We may as well get something done."

They got lucky, and it was about time. Gregory's Fine Jewelry was a family owned business that had been in Cascade for years. After a few preliminary question, Thomas Gregory, the semi-retired patriarch, practically adopted them as relatives. He shepherded them into the back, plunking Jim in front of a microscope.

"See that symbol, Detective? That's a manufacturer's mark. Now we don't carry that manufacturer, but we might be able to figure out who does, or who had the line two years ago."

Blair stifled a laugh. It tickled his funny bone that Jim Ellison, the one man who didn't need the microscope, was getting this lesson from Mr. Gregory. He didn't miss the obvious dilemma. There were an awful lot of jewelry stores in Cascade. It would be like sorting for a needle in a haystack.

"Mr. Gregory, is there anyway we can narrow the field down a little?" Jim gave his semi-amused partner a glare. "This could be important in a murder investigation."

"Son, I'm retired. I have plenty of time. Let me do some digging and come back this afternoon. I think I can save you a lot of shoe leather."

Blair gave his partner's shoulder a nudge. "Jim, what you and I know about engagement rings couldn't fill a thimble. Defer to an expert, man."

Mr. Gregory's eyes twinkled. "See? Give an old man a little excitement, Detective."

"It beats the phone book, Jim. We have other things we can do."

Jim finally laughed and returned the ring to its evidence bag. "I'm surrounded and I surrender. You're the boss, Mr. Gregory. We'll check back."

&&&&

They finally made it through traffic to the station. Simon was out, so they left a message for him. They flaked out in one of the interrogation rooms to get some quiet. Jim raided the vending machines. It was time to plan some sort of strategy to put a name with their face.

"We should split up," said Blair, accepting a candy bar. He frowned. "Cardiovascular disaster in a wrapper. Anyway, we can get a print of the photo. You can go to the school and Councilman Price. I can take the actual photo and try to match it with a studio. Maybe we'll get a break with Mr. Gregory."

"No. Absolutely not, Sandburg. Until we have some serious down time, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Jim, we talked that all out last night," Blair mumbled around his mouthful of chocolate. "I'm doing fine."

"You're doing a Sierra Verde. We put the monster back in the box, but it's not dead. You gave me your word, and I'm holding you to it." Jim wadded up his wrappers and threw them in the trash.

"That may be true, but we can cover more separately. If I have any problem, I'll call your cell. I need to go to photo studios, Jim, and that takes T-I-M-E. How tough can it be?"

Jim sighed. "Run it by me. What's your idea."

"Look. This is a professional photo. Rainier would hire someone to come in and do photography for special occasions, like a formal dance or a graduation. The high schools do the same thing."

"So? How does that help us?"

"Every prom has a theme. There are six public and two private high schools in Cascade. We know the year this was taken. Someone is going to be able to match this year with the background and the school. If we can get the school, maybe we can get a name. Come on, Jim. I can check out a car from the motor pool."

"That's right. The Volvo is still dead. Oh, all right. You get one flicker, you call me." They walked out together. Blair headed for the elevator and the motor pool. Jim needed to track down Councilman Price before he left.

"Hey, Sandburg," Jim called after him. "Like I said before, you really need to get a car."

&&&&

Hours later, Jim and the principal of Cascade High were still going through photos of the senior class of 1998. Between worrying about Sandburg and his own growing frustration, Jim was close to throwing a match on the pile of 2x3 black and whites. Andrew Price hadn't been able to recognize the photo either, but the kid was supposed to be two years older than his own son. Cascade was a large high school. He wasn't surprised that they were running into problems.

The principal was off digging for some file of non-graduating seniors when the cell rang in his pocket.

"Ellison."

"Hey, Jim. I have..."

"Are you okay. Where are you?"

"Sheesh, Jim. Don't have a cow. I'm fine. I think you're in the wrong place. The picture came from Central High's Senior Prom two years ago. I'm with the guy that took the pictures. He recognized the background."

"Central? I'll call them right now, before they close up shop for the day."

"You do that. I'll keep working from this end. They keep the photos on file, but the system's a bit disorganized."

"Disorganized? Sandburg, you wouldn't know a filing system if it bit your head off, disorganized or not. Sounds like the perfect job for you."

"That's harsh, man, but I'm sure I deserve it. If I can find a name, I'll call you. Get moving. We're going to nail this guy."

Jim took the time to call Simon before he left, knowing the heat Simon was under. Still, he was surprised to find his captain waiting in the office of Central High. Central was the biggest high school in the city. The principal had already commandeered a room and was spreading bags of photos on a long table, cross-checking that he had the correct class and year.

"Jim Ellison, Principal Cammins." Simon shrugged at his detective's questioning glance. "I needed to get out of the station. I figured another pair of eyes wouldn't hurt."

"It won't. After doing this at Cascade, my eyeballs are about to fall out. Here's our photo." Jim handed to the principal. The man shook his head. "That is not a face I recognize. I wish I did. My son played football against Bruce Price, and they were picked all-city together. He seemed like a fine young man." He looked at the sea of photographs. "Well, no time like the present."

Another hour slipped by. The unsorted pile was getting smaller and smaller, but it was still huge. It was hard to concentrate. The next photo could be the right one. Jim groaned.

"Take a break, Ellison. You've been at this all afternoon."

Jim had barely started to stretch when the cell rang again. "Mr. Gregory? You do? No - let me get some paper." He ended up with a discarded sheet from the trash. "Go ahead, Mr. Gregory. All of them." He was so excited, his words carried to the two others in the room. Simon realized his detective was writing names. He scurried after the first one. Principal Cummins caught on, and got the second.

On the seventeenth name, they found him. Smiling, wearing a sweatshirt and a sleepy expression. Danny McGarrie. Parents were divorced, lived with his mother while attending Central. Her remarried name was Lorton. Cammins dashed off to get his records.

Simon rubbed his eyes. "Thank you, God, for a break. Nice work, Jim. It's good to have you and Sandburg back on line."

"For the record, Simon, we're not. Blair wants to see this through, but he needs time off, and I intend to take it with him." The conversation didn't go any further. Cammins was back.

He read off the mother's address. "There are some counselor's notes in here. Seems there were some problems at home. He lived part of the time with a friend, Brandon Foster. That boy I know. You might want to check with him. He goes to Cascade Community College, and still lives at home. He does part-time maintenance work for the school district." Cammins continued to turn pages in the file. "His records say he went into the National Guard." Cammins looked up hopefully. "Is that any help?"

"Simon, any military enlistee..."

"...Would be on record. I'll get right on it. You get Sandburg and try the mother's address. I'll send backup."

Cammins dismissed any attempt at thanks. "Get out of here. Let me know how it turns out. I've got pictures to file, or my school secretary will have my hide."

&&&&

Jim picked Blair up at the station. They got no answer at the Lorton home, and left the backup unit to watch the street. It was time to try Brandon Foster. The address was fairly close, but Jim didn't miss the opportunity to quiz his partner. Blair started to give him the brush off, and Jim bristled.

"How many times to we have to do this, Sandburg? You're not helping yourself or me if you keep denying there's a problem."

"I don't need a nursemaid, Jim," Blair replied angrily. "If I say I'm okay, then I'm okay."

Jim was ready to respond in kind when he caught himself. Old habits die hard, on both sides of a relationship. He'd never fully earned back Blair's trust after kicking him out of the loft, or accusing him of betrayal time and again. It finally dawned on him last night that Blair fully expected to be tossed out again, at any moment. Why wouldn't he minimize a problem, when it potentially could be the straw that broke the camel's back?

"Let's back up, Sandburg. I've screwed up with you so many times in so many different ways, it's pathetic. You have no reason to believe I can change, but I sure want to try. Give me a chance to be the friend I should have been all along."

"You've always been a good friend, Jim. I didn't mean to imply that." Blair's blue eyes swam with regret.

"Then don't do the guilt, tell me the truth. Oh, shit, I know you told me the truth. Just tell me a fuller version of it."

"I'm okay when we're busy. It's the down time. I just about lost it when we were stuck in traffic. Going into that jewelry store was the best thing you could have done for me." They rode in silence for a few moments before Blair continued. "I know I should have told you."

"You should have, but you're still doing great in my eyes. Is that the house?"

"That's it - 258 Laurel. Can you hear anyone inside?"

Jim nodded. "I can hear music. At least one person."

Their ring was answered promptly. The stocky young man that opened the door took one look and asked, "Police?"

"I'm Detective Jim Ellison. This is Detective Sandburg. We need to ask you a few questions...."

"Am I under arrest?"

The kid looked ready to jump out of his skin. "Are you Brandon Foster?" Jim asked. The young man nodded, his eyes wary. "Then you're not under arrest, at least not right now. We need to ask about Danny McGarrie. We know he's a good friend of yours, and he's implicated in a murder."

The kid tried to keep his face blank, but he didn't do a very good job. "I can't talk to you about Danny. I want you to leave."

"Maybe we should come back with a warrant. Then you can be an accessory to murder." Jim waited. It was pure fiction. No judge would give them a warrant on what they had. "Come on, Sandburg. Don't go anywhere, Foster." They headed back toward the truck.

"Wait."

When they turned, Foster was still at the door, color drained from his face.

"You might be able to help him, man." Blair took a few steps back toward the house. "Talk to us. Do you really want him hunted down like a fugitive?"

Brandon Foster shook his head, then motioned them back. Only sentinel ears could hear the whispered, "Oh, Danny - please forgive me."

&&&&

They followed Foster into a small, bright kitchen. He slumped into a chair, and gestured weakly for the two detectives to take a seat. "Danny's my best friend. I'd do anything to help him. I'm going to tell you what I know, because I think that's what Danny really wants. If he could make it right, he would." Foster traced patterns with his finger on the surface of the table they were seated at. "You know as well as I do that's impossible."

"Start at the beginning. Do you know where he is?"

Foster shook his head. "Not this second, anyway. He left to go for a walk. He'll come back here, or show up at his place. He's been here since it happened. He such a mess. He didn't mean to hurt anybody. First he wants to run, then he wanted to kill himself. I was scared to let him out of my sight. Now, his mind's just mush. He's real emotional and completely irrational. I think eventually he'll realize that he has to turn himself in. He's getting pretty close on his own." He blinked back the tears. "Either that or he'll end it ... or make you guys do it for him."

Blair threw Jim a worried glance. A suspect with a death wish was bad news. Besides, they had other problems. "Mr. Foster...."

"Brandon."

"Sure...Brandon, you could be facing charges yourself. You do understand that you don't have to talk to us? That you might incriminate yourself? Do you want to talk to a lawyer first?" Jim nodded in agreement. They needed to follow procedure.

"I expected that, but I still want to do this."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I knew Tara. I feel an obligation. Can we stay here instead of going to the station. I don't want Danny to come back to an empty house." He waited patiently while Jim set up a recorder. "Danny got here Monday. He doesn't get along with his mom, so he usually stays with me. You know he and Lisa were engaged? Well, Danny knew something was up, and got the scoop from Lisa a couple weeks ago. Soon as he could, he comes home. He decides he just needs to get Tara away from these new kids and she'll come to her senses. Begs Tara to see him, and she invites him for the day at this Marnie's pool. From what I figure, Tara's got the same idea from a different direction. They'll talk, Danny will see what a great deal she's got going, and he'll see it her way.

"Next day, they visit, shop, go back to Marnie's place. Danny just about drops his teeth when these two girls mix up the drinks and the party starts. He plays along. Tara seems happy to be with him, he thinks he's making big progress. Then this Bruce kid shows up." Foster halted. "Is this making any sense, guys?"

"It's your story to tell," answered Jim.

"Well, Bruce wants to join the party. Tara goes in to make more punch. Danny goes with her, and wants to know where he stands. Somewhere during the conversation, Tara says she still loves him, gets upset and goes into the bathroom and starts crying. Danny's going nuts. He sees these pills on the counter, and adds the stuff to the punch. Dumb. Beyond stupid, but he's in a panic. Had this crazy idea that Tara would pass out and he'll be able to get her out of there. You know, the big rescue scene. Danny always was a romantic."

"Okay, so Danny put the drugs in the sangria? That's what he told you?" asked Jim.

"Yeah, and it's killing him now. So Tara comes out, says she loves him, but things just aren't the same. Just feeds Danny's crazy fantasy. The three of them keep drinking, and Danny's waiting for his big chance. Somewhere along the way one of them blurts out that Tara's preganant. Bruce starts laughing his head off at Danny. Danny catches the clue bus and storms out."

"He left?" Blair watched his partner carefully, certain Jim was using his senses to determine if Foster was telling them the truth. "They were still alive when he left?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter. Danny stomps around for awhile, and decides that he doesn't care, if Tara loves him, they'll work something out. They'll keep the baby, the whole nine yards. Like I said, he's a romantic. He goes back. Price is passed out in a lounge chair, but the two girls...oh, God, how could he have messed up like this? They were already gone. Danny knows it's his fault and he's freaking out. Bruce comes to, and makes some stupid remark. I mean, the guy must have been totally out of it, but Danny just loses it. Drags him into the pool and drowns him. That's it. The housekeeper comes back, Danny panics and here we are. As God is my witness, until that moment of blind rage, he didn't mean to kill anyone."

Jim clicked the recorder off. Blair was ashen, and he bolted for the door. "Meet you outside, Jim," were his parting words. Jim hated to think what was going through his mind. Brandon Foster sat frozen in his chair, tears running down his face. "Detective, I think I can get Danny to turn himself over to you if we can find him. Do you think you can put off arresting me until then?"

At that moment, Jim couldn't muster any kind of an answer. A ringing cell phone saved him from a decision. It was the backup unit. Lights had just gone on in the Lorton house.

&&&&

"How do you want to handle this, Jim?"

"We're going to ring the bell. Send the backup over to Ash. I want someone there if he splits through the back. We'll let Foster talk to him if we can." Blair still looked shaky. Foster's rendition of the story hit him hard. "Want to sit this one out, Chief? I can get one of the uniforms..."

"No." Blair was breathing heavily, and his face looked grim. Fighting on two fronts, no doubt. "I need to do this, and I won't let you down."

Assured everyone was in position, the two men crossed to the porch. On the second ring, Jim waved Blair to the north side of the home. "I can hear a window opening somewhere in back. Go!"

They reached the back yard in time to see their target vault the fence and tear through the neighboring yard. Unfortunately, he didn't head for the street, and the backup on Ash was no immediate help. The chase was on. They could hear Brandon Foster shouting vainly at his friend, begging him to stop.

Danny McGarrie led them on a merry chase. Jim knew they were on the verge of losing him. This neighborhood, with it's small fenced yards and narrow streets, gave the advantage to the pursued. There were too many places to hide and few clear lines of sight. They lost him more than once, even with a flood of backup units sent in by Simon. Each time Jim's hearing gave them an edge. Realizing that even a sentinel couldn't give chase and coordinate at the same time, Captain Banks appeared along with the backup units, freeing Jim for the chase.

It took awhile, but a unit finally got a radio to the two detectives, so they could communicate directly with Simon. It didn't make them any less tired, but it was faster and more reliable than a cell phone.

"Simon, send some units around to the far side of the Walker Field and have them work back towards Archer. We're on," Blair paused, checking the road sign, " the corner of Poplar and Clearview. Get some units to flood the area right behind us. We don't want this guy to double back on us. They need to go into the yards. We almost missed him under some shrubbery a couple of blocks back."

"Got it. A fugitive alert just went out on radio and TV. We've got a helicopter up."

"Out." Blair was panting hard. Neither of them were dressed for a cross country run in warm weather. "Now he's really going to panic. Use your hearing again, Jim. He's gone to ground. He's as tired as we are. Ignore me." He waved a hand, trying to catch his breath. "You'll hear him breathing."

Jim closed his eyes. Somehow it seemed to help. He was conscious of Blair's quiet encouragement. Gradually, he eliminated sounds, one by one. The squawking police radios. The chopper. The sirens from nearby cruisers. Footsteps.

He found him. A still target. Someone trying to stay quiet, to quell the sound from gulping air in too fast.

He grabbed Sandburg by the shoulder. "Across the street. Blue house somewhere in back. Take the near side." Hugging the side of the house, he could hear Sandburg digging through the shrubbery, talking softly, knowing his sentinel partner could monitor his progress and position. Jim flinched as he heard a vicious thud and a moan. He broke for the corner of the house.

Jim heard the next blow before he felt it. The 2x4 across the ribs sent him down, gasping for air. He grabbed an ankle as his quarry went by. McGarrie went to his knees, but Jim didn't have a secure hold. The ankle slipped away. Jim lunged and brought him down again. A kick across the forehead sent Jim back to the ground reeling.

The steps pounded away toward the street. Then a collision between bodies, and a resounding thump.

Jim cleared his vision and looked across the grass. Sandburg, blood streaming from the side of his head, slammed McGarrie's head into the ground.

"Why'd you do it?" Blair screamed. "How could you...drown them!"

Sandburg was out of his head. He was going to kill him. Jim just couldn't get his body moving. Three uniform officers descended on the tangle as Jim struggled to his feet. One of them pulled Sandburg out of the fray. Blair hit the ground and stayed down, shaking. McGarrie flailed away at anyone within reach. The screams died to wails as he was finally subdued and cuffed.

Jim left McGarrie to others. He wrapped his arms around the bloody heap that was his partner; the only thing that really mattered at the moment.

&&&&

Jim Ellison wasn't at the station when Danny McGarrie was booked and his prints were matched those on the blue goblet and the prescription bottle. Despite his renowned expertise, he didn't conduct the interrogation. He wasn't there when McGarrie gave up the whole story. Other officers would follow the sordid chain of events that had ended in three deaths and prepare the case for court. He had other things to do.

Jim Ellison overruled the paramedics and got a free ride to Cascade General. He stayed in the ER until the attending physician booted him out, or rather, booted him into an examining room. After X-rays and about ten pounds of tape on his abused ribs, he hijacking a hospital phone and made a series of very serious phone calls to numbers he wasn't supposed to know. Nearly ten years after leaving the Rangers and covert operations behind, ex-Captain James Ellison still knew who to call and how to get what he wanted. He was a motionless figure at his partner's bedside, ignoring or intimidating the hospital staff, soothing Blair's nightmares, waiting for the night to pass. Before dawn, he left the hospital to collect a lone passenger from the airport.

When Danny McGarrie made his first appearance in court, Jim Ellison was at partner's side with Dr. Fallon, an army physician specializing in treating post traumatic stress. Someone else would have to piece together justice, if there was such a thing for this tragedy. Jim was determined to keep priorities firmly focused on his partner. Together, they began the slow process of winning Blair Sandburg back from the memories that haunted him.

_"We gather strength from sadness and from pain_

_Each time we die we learn to live again."_

_Author Unknown_

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted at Mackie's Idol Pursuits. Thank you, Mackie, for giving my stories a home for so long.


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